


guys my age

by WhoTheBuckIsStucky



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 12 and 13 will just be filler yuta hehe, Age Difference, Aged-Down Character(s), Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Cockwarming, Daddy Kink, Hurt/Comfort, I think this fic is like proof that i have brain worms, M/M, Mild Angst, Smut, Somnophilia, Yuta is like. a hot middle aged bachelor, age gap, basically every chapter excluding the first one, consensual of course, ill update it as things come up, it's all consensual, mild dom/sub but it's mostly implied/worked into the daddy kink, mmmm probably some semi-public sex, nothing heavy just mentions and whatnot but i always like to tag it, oh what else...., plot concludes at chapter 11 but people wanted some yuta pov so, so fair warning there, so. um, taeyong is soon-to-be 19/20, very much a happy ending tho!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 59,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26635774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoTheBuckIsStucky/pseuds/WhoTheBuckIsStucky
Summary: Taeyong, fresh off of his first year of college, finds himself in a new city for his summer internship. He keeps running into a beautiful man, and Taeyong can't help but be attracted to him. The problem? This guy is around 40, and Taeyong only just celebrated his 20th birthday.**updates every other saturday!**[there's smut in every chapter but the first one uwu]
Relationships: Lee Taeyong/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 141
Kudos: 307





	1. think i'm too cool to know ya

**Author's Note:**

> when we talk about age in this fic, it's all in korean age since this is set in an ambiguous city in korea. As far as I know, age 20 in korean age (19 in international) is considered an "adult"; im also operating under the assumption that people can enter clubs at an earlier age than it is legal for them to drink; they just can't, you know, drink. Ah, the hoops I jump through to contort the world to my liking.
> 
> And, yeah, it's mentioned in the tags but there's an age gap in this fic! I would just like to make a little disclaimer and say i don't really support age-gap relationships in real life, just because the inherent power imbalance usually leads to bad things. But, for some godforsaken reason, I still really like age gap (probably due to some of my own unprocessed trauma that we dont need to talk about now or ever). Basically, what im saying is this fic is depraved, and I know it's depraved, and I know _I'm_ depraved, so you don't have to tell me. If you think you won't like it or think it might trigger you, then please click that little 'x' at the top of your window :)

Taeyong shakily drags his luggage off the train and onto the platform of the subway station. He looks around for an exit sign, and then makes his slow way towards the escalators, trying to manage all his suitcases. 

He emerges into the sunlight and the immediate loud noises of a busy street. His family lives in a small neighborhood about an hour away from the heart of Seoul, so he’s not incredibly used to the amount of traffic he now has to navigate. The university he goes to is small, and located far from any large cities—but that’s partially why he chose this internship to begin with. The main reason was because this city is a musical hub, but he also knew he should try living somewhere new for once. 

He manages to flag down a taxi, but as he’s moving to the curb, he trips over one of his many bags. It’s knocked to the side, and he can only watch, stumbling, as the extended handle whacks against a stranger’s leg. He winces, and ducks his head. “I’m so sorry,” he rushes out.

“That’s quite alright,” the stranger says, and he doesn’t sound angry. His voice has the slightest of accents that Taeyong can’t place, and he risks a peek up at him. 

The man in front of him isn’t much taller than Taeyong, if at all, but what strikes Taeyong is his white-blonde hair, long and slicked back, some strands brushing the back of his neck. It wouldn’t be _so_ odd if he was young (Taeyong himself is currently sporting bright cerulean hair), but this man has to be in his late-thirties at the least. It’s clearly not his natural color, and Taeyong wonders what kind of job he has that allows him to dress this way at his age. But then, he realizes, he is in the city, there’s probably a lot of performers and producers and fashion designers here. This man could be anyone.

He gives Taeyong a smile, and for some reason it knocks the wind out of him. Maybe it’s the way his skin is perfect, or that his teeth are white and straight, but Taeyong feels like he’s frozen.

The man offers Taeyong the handle of his suitcase, and he realizes the taxi driver has already loaded his other things into the trunk. Taeyong quickly accepts it with a short bow and a murmur of thanks, passing it to the driver. When he turns back around, the man is already walking away, sunlight glinting off the back of his black leather jacket.

“Where to?” the taxi driver asks, opening the door for Taeyong so he can slide into the backseat.

Taeyong rattles off his new address absently. He chalks it up to exhaustion, but he can’t help but feel a little starstruck by that man. _Why?_ Sure, he was pretty, but _he’s like, forty, moron_ , Taeyong berates himself. _And you won’t be twenty for another couple of weeks. So relax._ He sighs, leaning back into the headrest as the driver pulls away from the curb. _Well, it’s not like I’m going to see him again, anyway_ , he thinks, glancing out the window and watching the city flash by.

By the grace of some god, Taeyong manages to get all his things up to his third-floor apartment. It’s a little complex a bit removed from the main streets, and stands only about five stories high. It’s meant to be student housing, so it comes barely furnished, and Taeyong spends the rest of the afternoon cleaning up and unpacking, familiarizing himself with the sharp edges of the small kitchen and the high squeak of the hinges on the windows.

Finally, he’s satisfied with the state of the apartment—for the moment, at least—and he sits down to find a takeout place to call. He’s a good cook, but he doesn’t have any groceries, so he decides it will be tomorrow’s problem, and settles on a street-eats place just down the street.

The air is warm even though the sun is setting—one of the virtues of summertime, he supposes—as he follows his navigation app across the street and down the block. He knew it was pretty walkable, but nervousness about being alone in a strange city made him worry that it wouldn’t be. Luckily, it had just been his mind playing tricks on him; he’s excited to settle in and call it home.

He eats slowly, watching YouTube videos to keep him occupied, and then cleans up and heads for bed. He watches the sky out the window, watches the moon make its steady path across the sky. His orientation is early in the morning, and he tries to calm the quiet anxiety that loops around like a hamster running on a wheel. 

It’ll be an interesting summer. He’s sure of it.

~ * ~

Orientation goes smoothly. They get little goody bags with the tools they’ll need for the coming months, and then they meet their departments. Taeyong’s department head seems a little eccentric—a slightly older man, who is somehow both extremely casual and very formal at the same time. He jokes around, but insists they call him Mr. Kim. Taeyong walks away from the meeting a little confused and apprehensive, but at least the other intern seems cool. His name is Jaehyun, and he’s a little quiet, but they exchange numbers with the promise to get drinks together when they’re both free.

Now, though, Taeyong is grocery shopping. He’s happy with his decision to get a cart instead of a basket, because it’s already piled high with supplies.

“Okay, vegetables… eggs… sugar… oh, milk,” Taeyong murmurs to himself, scanning the fridges until he finds the right section. It’s a little barren—the whole store is, really, though that’s probably what he gets for going to a tiny little shop—but he sees the kind he likes, just one carton left, and pushes his cart to the side, going to grab it.

At the same time, a stranger’s hand also reaches out for it. Their knuckles brush, and Taeyong looks up in surprise. 

The man looks vaguely familiar, but Taeyong, in his stress, can’t put his finger on it. “Go ahead,” he says softly, drawing his hand back to his side.

But the man just shakes his head, corners of his lips curling up slightly. “No, take it,” he says. His voice is familiar, too. “I can always get it somewhere else.”

“Are you sure?” Taeyong stammers. 

He nods, taking it off the shelf and moving beside him to place it in his cart. “You look like a student,” he says. Taeyong nods, confirming. “I have my own car, I can just go somewhere else. Besides, it looks like you’ve got quite the haul going here as it is. I wouldn’t want you to have to take a second trip.”

“Thank you,” Taeyong says, watching him walk away. As soon as he’s out of sight, it hits him—it’s the man from the day before. Though today he’s wearing a simple sweatshirt, and his long hair fell down soft, framing his face, his features were so unique that it could only be him. Besides, it was that same, strange accent. Taeyong swallows, hoping he hadn’t recognized him. 

_Does he live around here?_ he wonders as the cashier scans his items. _He seems kinda… kinda rich, though, or at least not someone that would live around here. This whole neighborhood is mostly students, and he’s too old to be a student._ He takes his bags and lugs them on home, turning it over and over in his head. His cheeks are still warm, but he ignores it.

As luck would have it, he gets his answer faster than he thought he would.

Just a couple days later, Taeyong is shopping for some new clothes, poking through a sale rack, searching for his size. He’s not looking where he’s going, and backs into another shopper. He spins quickly, apologizing, and hears quiet laughter.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” It’s the very same man, giving him that funny, wide smile of his.

Taeyong laughs awkwardly, pretty sure he meant it as a joke. “Did you, um, did you get the milk? Eventually?”

The man bursts out laughing, tilting his head back, mouth open wide. He shakes his head, and some of his pretty blonde hair falls into his eyes. “I’m Yuta,” he says, offering a hand for Taeyong to shake. “What’s your name?”

“Um, Taeyong,” Taeyong says, accepting it somewhat clumsily. “Do you—do you live around here?”

Yuta nods. “I live up in the suburbs about fifteen minutes away. I usually shop around here because it’s cheaper,” he explains. “You said you were a student, right? You go to school around here, or just visiting?”

Taeyong shakes his head. “I’m just here for the summer, for an internship. I go to school a couple hours away.”

“Internship? What do you study?”

“Music,” Taeyong says. “I want—I want to go into performing, but I’m studying production.”

“Oh.” Yuta’s eyebrows shoot up. _How does this man not have more wrinkles?_ Taeyong finds himself wondering. _He’s perfect. What the fuck is up with that?_ “I’m a producer,” Yuta continues. “Not a big deal, really; I just kind of do it when the fancy strikes, or a friend asks a favor. Used to do more when I was younger.” He grins at him. “Well, I hope you enjoy your time here.”

“Thanks,” Taeyong says, and then for some godforsaken reason, adds, “Hope I’ll see you around these next couple months, then.”

Yuta’s smile grows, and he nods. “Listen, I gotta run, but I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again. By the way—” he points at the shirt Taeyong was looking at “—that _would_ look good on you.”

Taeyong stares at him, stunned, as he saunters away. As soon as he’s out of sight, Taeyong drops down into a crouch, shoving his hands over his mouth. _Did I just flirt with a—a fucking old man? Did he just flirt_ back _? What the fuck is happening? What was I thinking?_

When his racing thoughts finally slow, Taeyong stands back up to find his size in the shirt Yuta pointed out. He holds it up against his body and checks his reflection. Yuta was right. It _does_ look good. 

~ * ~

The rest of the week goes smoothly. Taeyong is thrown into his work—mostly, he just watches the senior members produce, though he’s never allowed in the studio when they have real artists there recording. On Friday afternoon, just as he’s cleaning up, Jaehyun comes over and leans against his cubicle.

“Hey,” Taeyong says, sparing him a glance. “What’s up?”

“What’re you doing tonight?” Jaehyun asks.

“Probably nothing,” Taeyong replies. “Why?”

“Me and some of the other interns are going to explore the nightlife,” he says. “If you wanna come. I kinda already told them you would because I didn’t want to seem lame and like I didn’t have friends.”

Taeyong laughs. “Yeah, I’ll come. When and where?”

“Probably around 10? I’ll send you the address of the place Johnny wants to try first.”

“Johnny?” It’s an American name, and Taeyong shoots him a quizzical look.

“He’s into, like, DJ-ing,” Jaehyun explains. “He’s from the States, but he’s going to school here. His family is Korean. He just goes by Johnny cuz, well, that’s his name.”

Taeyong shrugs. “Okay, cool. I’ll see you guys then.”

“See you.” Jaehyun strides off, head buried in his phone, and Taeyong finishes organizing his desk.

Taeyong says his goodbyes for the day and hurries home so he can make dinner, and shower, and change. He makes good time, which is all the better, because he spends about an hour trying to decide what to wear. Finally, he settles on a white tank top under a sheer black short-sleeve button-up and white skinny jeans. If he gets a drink spilled on him, well, that’s what stain remover is for, right?

The address Jaehyun sent him is about a twenty minute walk from his place, so he sets out at 9:30, bundled in a light jacket. He doesn’t really need it, but he’s a little self-conscious about his outfit when he’s just out on quieter, residential streets, so it offers comfort if nothing else. 

Luckily for him, Jaehyun is already standing outside with another guy when Taeyong gets there. Jaehyun turns to give him a greeting smile. 

“Taeyong, hey! This is Johnny,” he says, gesturing to the ( _very, very tall_ ) boy next to him.

“Hey.” Johnny waves, and Taeyong smiles and waves back. “I like your hair.”

“Oh, thank you,” Taeyong says, touching the strands fondly. “I did it in my dorm bathroom last month.”

“Wait, you did it yourself?” Jaehyun asks. “It looks so… like, professional.”

Taeyong grins. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he explains. 

There’s a shout from up the street, and they all turn to see a couple more guys walking up. One has pretty, slender features and a button nose, and the other has gentle masculine looks and a sharp jawline. The pretty one is the one that shouted, and he waves brightly at them.

“Hey Jaehyun! Hey Johnny!” he says. “And you must be Taeyong! I’m Ten; this is Taeil. I like your hair!”

Taeyong thanks him as Johnny laughs, saying, “That’s what I said! He did it himself!”

“No way, really?” Ten asks. “Can you do mine? I wanna go blonde.”

“Sure,” Taeyong agrees, nodding a hello to Taeil as well when he joins them. 

“Okay, let’s go in,” Johnny says. “I’m cold and I want a drink.”

They all file into the club after a quick ID check (and stamps on Taeyong, Ten, and Jaehyun’s hands, since they’re not of age). The lights flash brightly, and the music is so loud Taeyong can hardly hear his own thoughts. Jaehyun shouts in his ear that they’ll find a table while Johnny and Taeil get drinks.

“Won’t we get in trouble?” Taeyong asks.

“Nah, Johnny said this place was cool! As long as you don’t try to order, they don’t care,” Jaehyun yells back as they weave through the crowd and up to the mezzanine. 

“Won’t they see us drinking it and check?” Taeyong protests as Jaehyun sits down, scooting along the booth and pats the spot next to him.

“Just drink it fast,” Ten says, rolling his eyes. “We can say one of them drank it if they ask.”

It’s not that Taeyong’s a prude or something. He did his fair share of underage drinking at college. But that was in the safety of his dorm room, where he could just pretend to be asleep when he got too drunk, where he could hide the alcohol if the RA came knocking. Here, out in the open? He isn’t so sure. 

But Johnny and Taeil bring back a tray of assorted drinks, and Taeyong would be lying if he said he didn’t want them. So he knocks back a shot, and chases it with a sip of a sweet mixed drink Taeil passes him, and the night begins.

They go from bar to bar, and the hours bleed together. Taeyong tried to pace himself, he really did, but he’s stumbling by the time midnight strikes, and he can’t see straight. Still, Ten has a hand on his wrist, guiding him with them, and he’s grateful, because even through his drunkenness, he’s very afraid of getting lost. Somehow, he manages to act sober enough to enter the next club, and as they press into the throng of bodies, his hand slips from Ten’s grasp, and he’s alone.

The bass thrums in his ears as he’s jostled further and further away from the door. The room spins, and he thinks he’s going to be sick, but then he’s pushed out again, staggering with the force of so many people, and his back hits the wall. The sturdiness grounds him just enough, and he takes a deep breath, trying to focus his eyes enough to scan the room for his friends. It’s futile, though; it’s a big club. It’s dark, and they could be anywhere.

Panic rises in his stomach with the next wave of nausea and he shakes. He’s so _stupid_. Why wasn’t he more careful? Why did he drink so much? With a jolt, he realizes no one knows where he is. He fumbles for his phone and luckily finds it in his pocket with his wallet, but his fingers feel fat and clumsy. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get home. He doesn’t know how far they’ve walked.

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he jumps. _Fuck, they’ve caught me_. His heart sinks; how is he gonna explain this to his mom?

“Taeyong? Is that you?” Taeyong jerks his head up, and finds himself looking at Yuta. He looks concerned, and under it, something else that Taeyong doesn’t have the mind to figure out. 

“Yuta,” Taeyong mumbles. “Um, hey.”

“What are you doing here alone?” he asks, eyebrows pinched. “And—drunk?”

“Not alone,” Taeyong says, letting Yuta sling one of his arms over his shoulders. His eyes linger on the many stamps on the backs of Taeyong’s hands, and his frown deepens. “Was here with my friends, we just got separated.”

“Some friends,” Yuta mutters, helping him over to a table and sitting him down. Taeyong wants to protest that it’s not like that, but he’s too tired. “Stay here, okay? Don’t move. I’ll get you some water.”

Taeyong laughs to himself. He can barely stand; how is he supposed to move? Now that he has someone taking care of him, he gives in to the dizziness, slumping back a little in his chair.

Yuta is back by his side moments later, making him sit up straight and coaxing a straw between his teeth. “Think your friends are still here?” he asks when Taeyong finally takes a sip.

The water is cool and refreshing, and Taeyong takes his time responding, drinking a few more gulps first. “We just got here, so they should still be around. Besides, they wouldn’t leave without me.”

“Yeah,” Yuta mutters, setting the glass down. “Can you tell me what they look like?”

“Um, one of them is really tall. One is like, Hollywood-handsome. He’s also pretty tall.” Taeyong swallows. “Um, there’s two more, both kinda short.” 

Yuta nods, pushing the water glass into his hand. Taeyong wonders vaguely if he should be worried that Yuta put something in it, but if he has, it’s too late now. The water feels nice on his raw throat, so he just keeps drinking until it’s gone.

“I think I see them,” Yuta says. “Can you sit up a little for me? That’s good. Right there?” He turns Taeyong’s body slightly and points. Sure enough, Jaehyun and Ten are talking hurriedly, while Johnny and Taeil are looking around the room. Just as Taeyong manages to pinpoint them, Johnny sees him and waves, smacking the others in excitement and relief.

They cross the room in a rush. “Taeyong,” Jaehyun says breathlessly. “Are you okay? Who’s this? Is he bothering you?”

Yuta scoffs, and Taeyong shakes his head. “No, no, I know him,” he says quickly. “I’m okay. I think I should—I think I should probably go home, though,” he admits.

Jaehyun nods, shoulders relaxing a little, and Ten reaches down to smooth some of Taeyong’s hair. “I’m sorry I lost you,” he says, pouting a little. 

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault,” Taeyong says, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. Jaehyun moves to help him, but Yuta gets there first.

“I’ve got him,” he says, voice hard and firm.

Jaehyun gives him a suspicious look, and goes to Taeyong’s other side anyway, and together they make their way to the exit. Yuta flags down a cab while Jaehyun keeps Taeyong steady, whispering apologies as they wait.

Somehow, Taeyong ends up in the back of the cab. Jaehyun gives the driver his address, and the last thing he remembers is seeing Yuta and Jaehyun, side by side, watching him as the car pulls away.

When he comes to, he’s in his own bed, in his underwear, and warm sunlight is streaming in through his windows. He groans against the pounding in his skull and drags himself out of bed and into the shower. His memories come back like scattered jigsaw pieces. He’s pretty sure Yuta was there, but maybe he dreamed it.

When he gets out of the shower, he sees texts from his new friends asking if he’s okay. He smiles faintly, typing back responses. One text from Jaehyun, though, catches his eye. **How did you know that guy?**

  
Taeyong feels a blush rise to his cheeks, but though it comes with shame, it’s also accompanied by an inexplicable excitement. **I’ve just seen him around** , he replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. stay tuned for more lol.
> 
> [tumblr](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about)


	2. if you don't get it, then forget it

It’s really strange, honestly. It’s not a small neighborhood, and it’s definitely not a small city, but somehow, later that next week, Taeyong sees Yuta again. This time, they’re at a bookstore—Taeyong is on an errand for one of his supervisors, and Yuta looks like he’s just browsing. He catches Taeyong’s eye, and gives him an amused smile.

“Are you following me?” Taeyong asks.

“Maybe I should be,” Yuta says, somewhat severely. “You scared me the other night.”

“I’m sorry,” Taeyong says. _Why is it that every time I see him, I’m apologizing?_ “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“I don’t mind. I mean, you’re lucky it was me,” Yuta says. “You have to be more careful, though.”

“I know.” Taeyong sighs. “It was just… a combination of ill-thought-out decisions and unfortunate timing.”

“Maybe you should give me your mother’s contact information or something,” Yuta says. He’s got the same unreadable expression hidden under a thin layer of politeness, and Taeyong doesn’t know what to call it. He does know it makes the pit of his belly burn. “So I can help her keep an eye on you.”

Taeyong blanches, for multiple reasons. “Oh, please don’t.”

Yuta laughs. “I’m just joking.” He reaches out and smoothes Taeyong’s shirt collar, which Taeyong only just realizes is sticking up. He keeps his hand there longer than he really needs to, pressed over the line of Taeyong’s clavicle. “Aren’t you in the middle of your workday?” he asks.

“Yes, I’m just here on an errand,” Taeyong explains, trying not to gasp a little when Yuta finally draws his hand away.

“Well, I won’t keep you then,” he says. “See you around, Taeyong.”

Is it odd to say Taeyong feels giddy? But he does, and he can barely hide it even after he steps foot back in the building. His neck burns next to where Yuta touched him, and he can’t explain it, but it’s like his fingerprints sear themselves into Taeyong’s skin. He might be delusional, but he swears Yuta is doing it on purpose. For all his guardian-like care, he doesn’t miss the way Yuta’s eyes flick over his face and his body when he sees him. He tries to hide it, but Taeyong can tell he’s _looking,_ and Taeyong might be going to hell for it, but damn it, he _likes_ it. 

Taeyong doesn’t have the highest self-esteem, but he also can be objective, and he knows he’s pretty. He knows guys like him because of it, and he adores it when men fit their hands around his tiny waist and call him _beautiful_ and _delicate, like a perfect little doll_. He likes it even better when they treat him like it. And Yuta, with his big, mysterious smile, his lingering touches, his sharp eyes—he’s everything Taeyong could ask for. Taeyong knows he shouldn’t— _there’s plenty of guys my age around here_ , he thinks as Jaehyun waves in greeting, giving him a sweet, dimpled smile—but he can’t help it. It’s Yuta he wants. And all he needs is a little encouragement for him to take.

His birthday passes inconsequentially. Some of the guys take him out drinking that night, even though they have work the next morning. He takes it easy this time, and wakes up without the trace of a hangover. It’s not out of self-preservation, though; all night, he has his eyes peeled for Yuta. But if he’s out, he doesn’t see him. Still, he knows it’s only a matter of time before they run into each other.

“You’re smiling at the air again,” Jaehyun informs him the following Friday. “What’re you thinking about?”

“I’m not allowed to be happy for no reason?” Taeyong asks. “I just love work _so_ much.”

“Don’t be a jackass,” Jaehyun snorts. “Seriously, what is it?”

“Nothing, I’m just in a good mood,” Taeyong says. “Don’t ruin it.”

“Okay, weirdo,” Jaehyun says. “Well, I’m heading out. Don’t wait too long before you leave, okay? There’s a rainstorm coming.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Taeyong says absently. “Have a good weekend.”

He leaves shortly after Jaehyun, detouring to a grocery store to pick up a few things. Jaehyun was right, though—the sky, which had been bright and blue just that morning, is an oppressive grey. The air feels thick with tension, and Taeyong tries to make his shopping trip quick.

It’s in vain, though. About halfway through his walk home, it starts raining in big, fat drops, almost soaking him through instantly. His hair is slicked to his forehead, the cute, curly hairstyle he’d taken such care to create this morning is immediately ruined. Luckily, all his groceries are protected, but it doesn’t make the walk any less miserable. _Dumbass_ , he thinks to himself as he sidesteps a growing puddle, nearly losing his balance from the strength of the wind. _You should listen to people more_.

Beside him, a horn honks, and Taeyong nearly jumps out of his skin, almost dropping his groceries. The driver rolls the window down, and Taeyong is rather unsurprised to see that it’s Yuta. 

“You’ve _got_ to be following me,” Taeyong says, coming up to the car and bending over to talk. “Where’d you put the tracker? On my phone? In my hair?”

Yuta affords him a short laugh before jerking his head to the empty seat beside him. “I was just picking up some supplies. Get in, I’ll drive you home.”

Taeyong doesn’t need to be told twice. He opens the door and slides in, dropping his groceries at his feet, and reaches back to the seatbelt. “So you’re just always ‘in the neighborhood’ when I am, is that it?” 

Yuta laughs. “No, I really was shopping. Look at the backseat.”

Taeyong cranes his neck around and sees bags of food and alcohol, along with a couple of household supplies. “Nice alibi,” he says, laughing as he turns back around. “Take a left at this light.”

A flash of lightning makes them both flinch. “See, it’s a good thing I happened by,” Yuta says. A crack of thunder punctuates his words, and as they round the corner, Taeyong sees a small tree on his street has been bowled over by the wind, taking the nearby power lines down with it.

“I live up there,” Taeyong says timidly, pointing past the tree to his dark apartment complex.

Yuta raises an eyebrow as he pulls up to the curb. “Do you guys have a generator?” he asks.

“I don’t think so,” Taeyong says, moving to get out.

“Hey, wait,” Yuta says. “Listen, they probably won’t get around to fixing your power until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. Probably later. And you won’t be able to run the water—or, well, you shouldn’t, but you need a shower, or you’re gonna catch a cold. Plus, you won’t be able to cook anything, and you need a hot meal now more than ever. Why don’t you—why don’t you come to mine? At least for an hour or two, so you can shower and eat.”

Taeyong blinks, trying to shove some very, very inappropriate thoughts far into the back of his head. “Um,” he says. “That’s really kind of you, but I don’t want to impose.”

“No, please, I don’t mind,” Yuta insists. “It’ll spare me some worry, in any case. Go on, run in and put your things away. Grab a change of clothes, maybe your perishables. I don’t want you to have to replace them. I’ll wait here.”

“Okay.” As hesitant as Taeyong is, he knows a chance when he sees one, so he hurries into the building and up the stairs to his room. Sure enough, all the power is out. He changes quickly, so he can at least be somewhat dry and warm, and so he can stop soaking Yuta’s nice leather seats, and puts together a little bag. Luckily, his fridge is pretty barren, so he puts a couple of things in a little plastic bag, and hops back down the stairs, drawing his hood up to protect him from the rain as he runs from the shelter of the porch to Yuta’s car.

He throws his bag in the backseat, careful to avoid Yuta’s things as Yuta shifts the car into drive. 

“Sorry for dripping on your nice car,” Taeyong says. “And I’m sorry every time I see you, I seem to have something to apologize for.”

Yuta laughs. “That’s alright,” he says. “I think that’s the universe’s way of telling us we were meant to meet.”

Taeyong giggles a little at the thought, and contents himself to watching Yuta drive out of the corner of his eye. He briefly considers texting one of his friends to let them know where he’s headed, but that would probably cause more trouble than it’s worth. Besides the questioning he knows it would prompt, if something were to happen between him and Yuta tonight, it would make hiding it all the harder. 

A thought occurs to him that he realizes stupidly he probably should have considered before. Turning his head slightly, he asks, “Your wife won’t mind? Me?”

Yuta glances at him, a little smirk on his lips, almost like he knows exactly what game Taeyong is playing. But he doesn’t mention it, just replies, “I don’t have a wife. I live alone.”

“No girlfriend?” Taeyong presses.

Yuta definitely knows what he’s after; Taeyong can tell from the look on his face. “No,” he says simply.

“I see,” Taeyong says, satisfied. “Do you get lonely?”

“Sometimes,” Yuta admits, and Taeyong is surprised by his honesty. They climb up the side of the mountain, the scenery getting greener as they get further and further from the city. “But I have my friends, and I have my work. And when I just need to be around people for a while, I go down to the town and go shopping.”

“I was wondering why I was seeing you so often,” Taeyong says. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“I think it’s just human nature,” Yuta replies, turning onto a new street. It’s lined with pretty trees, and every single house looks gorgeous and stately. Taeyong can barely see for all the rain, but he squints, trying to take in his pretty surroundings. 

Yuta pulls into his garage, and as soon as the garage door shuts, the roar of the storm fades, and Taeyong is left with his breath. “Do you want help with your groceries?” he asks Yuta as they open their doors.

“If you have a hand to spare, that would be nice,” Yuta says. Taeyong nods, and together they carry everything inside. “You can leave that there by the counter,” Yuta says, nodding at the bag of clinking sake bottles Taeyong is holding. “Let me show you the bathroom.” Taeyong adjusts his bag on his shoulder and follows Yuta down the hall and then up the stairs to the bathroom. Taeyong stares at the walls as they pass. There’s so much art. The general design of the house is simplistic, but still nice. It doesn’t feel bare, but it’s not cluttered either.

Yuta pulls a couple of towels out of the closet just outside the doors and hands them to him. “There should be shower gel and things in there already,” he says. “Just shout if you need something. I’ll cook.”

“Thanks,” Taeyong says softly, putting his bag down on the floor and closing the door behind him. 

He stares at himself in the mirror, and bites back a bubble of delirious laugher. “Oh, Yong,” he says to his reflection fondly. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

He showers quickly, more just to get the chill out than anything else (though he takes special care a certain somewhere, _just in case_ ). He checks himself over in the mirror as he dries off, and then pulls on cute pink underwear, some _very_ distressed skinny jeans, and an oversized black and white sweater, soft from wear, with a too-low neckline. He fluffs his bright blue hair in the mirror until it falls nicely, and then picks up his things and steps out of the bathroom, making his way back down the stairs.

The kitchen smells delicious. He tells Yuta this after dropping his bag by the couch in the living room, leaning back on the counter next to the stove.

Yuta gives him an almost imperceptible once-over. “Thanks,” he says. “It’s my hidden talent. I’ve always been a good cook.”

Taeyong peeks at what he’s stirring. He’s making a rich kimchi stew, and his mouth waters a little. “Well, I’m a pretty good cook, too. Anything I can do to help?”

Yuta smiles and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Have a seat. I’ll be done in just a minute.”

“Okay,” Taeyong agrees easily, slipping into one of the dining table chairs.

“So what year in university are you?” Yuta asks nonchalantly.

“I’m a rising sophomore,” Taeyong says. “But I’m a little young for my year. I just turned 20. My birthday was yesterday.”

“Ah.” Yuta nods. “I see. Well, happy belated birthday. I’m sorry this shitty weather is your introduction to adulthood.”

Taeyong laughs. “Honestly, if it weren’t for my power going out, I wouldn’t mind it so much. I like the rain. It’s kind of soothing.”

Yuta grimaces, turning the fire out and taking bowls down from the cupboard. “Well, I don’t. I think it’s a nuisance.” He carries everything to the table, and seats himself across from Taeyong, dishing out the soup with an ornate, stainless steel ladle.

“Thank you,” Taeyong says. “This looks really good.” Yuta just smiles.

They eat in silence for a little, both too absorbed in not burning their tongues to focus on much else. Taeyong doesn’t mind the reprieve, taking the chance to look Yuta over. He’s taken off his suit jacket, and unbuttoned the top couple buttons of his stuff white button down. He can see a delicate silver chain resting against his sternum. It complements all his earrings, glinting when Yuta moves his head. His hair, which had been carefully slicked back once again, falls in wet strands in his face when he bends down, coaxed out of place by the steam from the soup.

Yuta looks out the window, humming at the sheets of dark water running down the glass. Taeyong hadn’t realized that the sun had set. “It hasn’t let up at all,” he observes. “Reminds me a little of this Japanese animation—I don’t know if you’ve seen it, Ponyo? It’s for children, but—”

“I love Studio Ghibli,” Taeyong says quickly, lighting up. “My favorite is Howl’s Moving Castle, but I like Ponyo, too.”

Yuta smiles. “Oh, some common ground, then. I’m a big Miyazaki fan.”

The way he pronounces _Miyazaki_ clues Taeyong in. “I don’t mean to sound rude,” he says, “but are you Japanese?”

Yuta laughs. “I am, yes,” he says. “I’ve lived in Korea for many, many years now. People say I barely have an accent anymore. But yes, I am from Japan. Osaka, to be precise.”

“I thought so!” Taeyong says even though it only just occurred to him. “I always wondered, because Yuta isn’t a Korean name. But I didn’t know how to ask. Not that it matters. I was just curious.”

“I understand,” Yuta says with a warm smile. Another bolt of lightning illuminates the sky. “Anyway, I bring up Ponyo because I’m worried the storm may last all night. If it doesn’t get better in the next hour or so, I think it may be best for you to stay the night. I just don’t love the idea of driving through this mess in the dark.” He looks back at Taeyong. “I have a guest bedroom, which you’d be more than welcome to use.”

“Thank you,” Taeyong says. “I—that would be nice.”

“Very good, then.” Yuta stands, taking their empty bowls to the sink and covering the leftovers, sliding the pot into the fridge. “Do you have any work to do?”

“No,” Taeyong says. “Even if I did, it’s Friday, so I wouldn’t be doing it anyway.”

Yuta laughs. “At least you’re honest. Want to come watch some TV with me, then, while we wait out the storm?”

“Sure,” Taeyong agrees, and he follows Yuta into the living room. 

Yuta drops down onto the couch, leaning back, stretching an arm along the back of the sofa, and crossing his legs, nodding for Taeyong to take the seat beside him. Taeyong’s been feeling bold, but he sits curled up against the opposite armrest. He doesn’t want to get too comfortable, too fast.

It’s hard, though. Yuta flips through the channel and settles on an old Hollywood movie. Taeyong watches his pretty fingers as he lays the remote back down on the coffee table and folds his hands in his lap. Taeyong mirrors him, clasping his hands so tight his knuckles turn white to discourage himself from doing anything rash. The peek of Yuta’s chest that Taeyong can see at the top of his shirt is making him a little dizzy with want, and moreover, his skin is pretty and unblemished. Taeyong would love nothing more than to change that. But for now, he’ll just look. Yuta’s talking about something and Taeyong nods along, pretending to listen. And then—

“Taeyong,” Yuta says, and his voice is low, with a hint of humor. Something about his tone sends goosebumps scattering across Taeyong’s arms. “My eyes are up here.”

Taeyong flushes, and for a second he considers walking home in the rain at eleven p.m. “Sorry,” he stammers out, ears burning. _Get it together, dumbass_ , he thinks to himself. 

“I don’t mind,” Yuta says, leaning back and appraising him. “But I think you do.”

“How can I not?” Taeyong asks, voice dimming to a whisper. “I mean, Yuta…” But he trails off. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Yuta says, maddeningly calm. He moves to turn away.

“I think we should,” Taeyong says. “If I’m staying the night.”

“Then what’s the matter?” Yuta tilts his head.

Taeyong wants to laugh. He feels crazy. “You’re like twice my age.”

Yuta _does_ laugh. “You think I don’t realize that?” he says. “I thought if I ignored it, it would just go away. But I just kept seeing you. I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

“I don’t know where—where to go from here,” Taeyong says uncertainly. _God_ , he just wants to touch him, but he knows once he starts, he won’t be able to stop. He’s getting the impression Yuta feels the same way, and in spite of everything, it sends arousal sparking across his skin.

Yuta shrugs. “Listen, I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do,” he says. “You’re welcome to stay either way. The guest bedroom door even has a little deadbolt, if that makes you feel more comfortable. But if both of us agree, what’s the harm?” Taeyong’s head is swimming. “Tell me, honey. Whatever you want.”

Taeyong swallows, and decides to do something equal parts brave and stupid. “I want you,” he says, voice rough, and Yuta’s smile widens. 

“Then what are you doing all the way over there?” Yuta asks, opening his arms.

Taeyong wastes no time scrambling into Yuta’s lap. Yuta cups his cheeks and brings him in for a sweet kiss, and Taeyong moans a little into his mouth. He’s such a good kisser, and Taeyong lets himself get lost in it, draping his arms over Yuta’s shoulders. He rolls his hips before he can think to stop himself, but Yuta just laughs darkly, nipping at his bottom lip before pulling away. Taeyong whines, gasping when Yuta drops his hands to Taeyong’s hips, flipping up the hem of his sweater and holding him in place by his waist.

“Fuck, baby, you have _such_ a pretty little body,” Yuta murmurs, and Taeyong preens, smiling to himself. “You know that though, don’t you? That why you wore these tight jeans, this sweater? If the neckline was any lower I could see your belly.”

“I wanted you to look at me,” Taeyong says softly. “I wanted to look nice for you.”

“Sweet of you,” Yuta coos. “What do you like, baby? I said whatever you want. Just say the word.”

“Want you to fuck me,” Taeyong says immediately, and Yuta laughs again.

“Well, I thought that was given,” he says. “We’ll get there, be patient for me. What do you _like_?” Taeyong doesn’t know how to answer that question, so he just tries to grind down in Yuta’s lap, hoping it’ll get him what he wants. But Yuta’s grip on his waist just tightens, holding him in place. “You don’t wanna use your words like a good boy? Need me to work it out of you? I didn’t think you were so shy.”

“No,” Taeyong protests immediately. He’ll be good. “I just,” he says, breathlessly. Yuta’s left hand is inching higher and higher under his sweater, mapping his body out. The pad of his thumb runs over Taeyong’s nipple, and his breath hitches in his throat. “I just don’t know where to start,” he finally manages to explain. “Help me.”

“Oh, you just wanted my help?” Yuta smiles indulgently. “Sure, baby. Do you like it when I hold you like this?” He squeezes the hand on Taeyong’s hip, and Taeyong gasps in surprise, nodding. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” Taeyong says. “Yes, I like it.”

“Okay.” Yuta’s tone is playful. “Would you like it if I pulled your pretty hair?”

“Mm-hmm, yes,” Taeyong agrees, nodding fervently. Yuta’s still playing with his nipples, and it’s sending shocks of pleasure through his body. He feels his cock straining a little in his pants. “You don’t have t’ treat me nice. I can take it.”

“So you’d like it if, when you’re bad, I spanked you?” Yuta asks. “Choked you? Kept fucking you if I wanted, even if you were already spent and crying?”

“Yes, yes,” Taeyong chants. “Please, I want it.”

“You wanna be my little fuckdoll, is that it?” Yuta asks. Shame burns on Taeyong’s cheeks, but he loves it, nodding. “Who knew you could be so dirty, with a face that angelic?”

“Did you ever wonder if I was?” Taeyong asks, and Yuta draws a sharp breath in beneath him. “Did you ever think about how I’d be in bed?”

“And if I did? Would you like that, too?” Yuta asks, and Taeyong whines in affirmation. “Would you like it if I said I imagined you just this way when I was jacking off—my beautiful little boy, moaning so nice for me in my lap?”

Taeyong shudders at _little boy_. “Yes,” he whispers. 

“Because I did,” Yuta says, leaning back so he can pull Taeyong’s sweater up over his head. Taeyong shivers a little, but it’s more from the knowledge that Yuta can _see_ him than from the chill. “Did you think of me, too, baby?” 

“Yes,” Taeyong admits. “I did.” Yuta’s hands have moved to the buttons of his own shirt, and Taeyong tries not to drool as the fabric falls back, off his shoulders, revealing a sturdy chest and toned stomach, and, to his surprise, a belly button piercing. Yuta notices him looking.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong giggles. “It’s pretty. I didn’t think you’d have one.”

“Well, I’m full of surprises, it would seem,” Yuta says. 

“Can I?” Taeyong hovers his hands just over Yuta’s chest, and Yuta nods. Instead of using his hands, though, Taeyong curls over, pressing his lips to Yuta’s collarbone. He makes a little row of kisses there, and then goes lower, mouthing hotly over the skin.

“You can leave marks if you want,” Yuta says, one hand coming up to thread through Taeyong’s still-damp hair. “I don’t mind if you bite.”

“Good,” Taeyong says. “I don’t, either.”

“What did you think of, baby, when you thought of me?” Yuta picks his little interrogation right back up as Taeyong goes to work sucking marks into his skin. 

“Thought maybe you could, you know, teach me how to suck your cock right, and then you could fuck me till you’re satisfied, even if it makes me pass out,” Taeyong rambles. Yuta groans, tightening the fist that’s in Taeyong’s hair, making him whine. “And in the morning you could do it again. I wouldn’t mind, even if I was sleeping. I mean it.”

“Yeah? Want me to use your pretty little hole?” Yuta brings his other hand around to Taeyong’s ass and squeezes. “Anytime I want? What if I’m working, would you sit on my cock and keep it warm for me?”

“ _Yes_ , yes, I want it,” Taeyong says. He shifts forward in Yuta’s lap, smiling to himself when he feels Yuta’s cock pressing hard against the cleft of his ass. “Please, daddy, please lemme suck your cock.”

Yuta shakes his head in disbelief, groaning. “You ask me nicely like that, I’ll give you anything you want. Who taught you to talk like that, huh, baby?”

“Nobody,” Taeyong protests. Yuta lifts him up a little so he can find his footing, and he steps backwards and then sits on his knees at Yuta’s feet. “I’ve always been like this. Learned it all on my own.”

“If you learned it on your own, why do you need teaching?” But Yuta sounds amused; there’s no accusation in his voice. He scoots forward a little, widening his stance so that he’s kind of caging Taeyong in.

“Don’t wanna do it on my own anymore,” Taeyong pouts.

“Want daddy to take care of you?” Yuta pushes some of Taeyong’s hair out of his face. Taeyong nods, loving that Yuta picked the nickname right up, and pouts harder, making his eyes big and pleading. Yuta unbuckles his belt, lifting his hips so he can pull his pants and underwear down and off. 

Yuta’s not the biggest Taeyong’s ever seen, but his cock is pretty, and thick, which is all that really matters. Taeyong crawls forward, until his knees are touching the bottom of the couch. Yuta coaxes him up, motioning for him to brace his hands on Yuta’s thighs. Taeyong gets settled, dropping his jaw and sticking his tongue out. Yuta hums in the back of his throat, pleased, and pushes two fingers into Taeyong’s mouth. 

Taeyong lets his jaw go completely slack, letting Yuta test the waters a little. He likes to surprise people with his lack of a gag reflex, and when Yuta presses down on the back of his tongue, Taeyong doesn’t even blink, just breathes, in-out, in-out, and gives Yuta a sweet, innocent look. 

“Jesus, baby,” Yuta says, withdrawing his hand from Taeyong’s mouth and wiping the spit off on his discarded shirt. “You’ll just let me do anything, won’t you?”

“I want anything you’ll give me,” Taeyong answers honestly.

“You’re so good,” Yuta murmurs. He grips his cock with one hand. “Open, baby.” Taeyong complies, and he slaps his cock against Taeyong’s flat tongue a couple of times. “Want it?”

“Please, daddy,” Taeyong whines, and Yuta nods. Taeyong pushes himself up a little more to get a better angle, and then sinks down on him, just the head at first, suckling sweetly, and then taking him deeper, hollowing his cheeks as he bottoms out. The head of Yuta’s cock is crowding out his throat, but he just keeps breathing, holding there to show off.

Yuta runs a finger over Taeyong’s Adam’s apple. “Shit, you feel so good,” he says. The praise makes Taeyong dizzy, and he sucks a little harder, moaning prettily around Yuta’s cock because he knows it’ll feel good. He bobs his head, setting a little rhythm, and Yuta’s hand falls from his throat as he sighs. “Just like that, baby.”

Taeyong moves faster, not caring if he can barely breathe, not minding if he gets messy. He wants to prove how good he can be, gagging softly at each thrust but not caring, even when his head fills with static.

“Okay, fuck, Taeyong, you’re gonna make yourself sick or pass out,” Yuta says breathlessly, taking a hold of his hair and pulling him off his cock. Taeyong wheezes a little, gasping for breath, looking up at Yuta with shining eyes. Yuta raises an eyebrow. “You’d probably like that, though, wouldn’t you?” he asks, and Taeyong just blinks, giving him a serene smile. Yuta catches a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. “Nasty,” he says, fond.

“Want you to fuck me, daddy,” Taeyong replies, petulant. He rests his cheek on Yuta’s knee. “Wanted it since I first saw you.”

“If I’m gonna fuck you, maybe we should move to my bedroom, hm?” Yuta stands, pulling Taeyong to his feet. Taeyong feels a little torn, honestly; on the one hand, he kind of likes the idea of being fucked into Yuta’s couch, like he’s just some slut, like he doesn’t matter. On the other hand, the bed _would_ be more comfortable, and it’s kind of nice that Yuta cares. It seems like Yuta can kind of tell where his mind is at, because he smiles and pulls Taeyong close. “We’re gonna be tired when we’re done,” he explains, and Taeyong really likes that idea. “And as long as you don’t mind, this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing.”

“I thought we already established that,” Taeyong says, wrapping his arms around Yuta’s shoulders and leaning in for a kiss. Yuta grabs the backs of his thighs, lifting him up. Taeyong squeals a little, giggling and clinging tight. Yuta looks strong, and Taeyong’s so glad that it isn’t just for show. He carries him all the way up the stairs to his room, only letting go when Taeyong’s back has hit the soft mattress. 

“Get these off while I grab a couple things, okay?” Yuta says, tugging a little at Taeyong’s jeans. He moves to his dresser, opening a small drawer and rummaging around. Taeyong undoes the button, wiggling his hips to slide them off. Yuta turns his head back to Taeyong, watching him undress. “Baby, are you clean? I know I am.”

Taeyong nods. “Mm-hmm, got tested right before I left home,” he says. “Haven’t had anyone since.”

“Perfect.” Yuta closes the drawer with his hip. “No condom, then, if that’s alright.”

Taeyong nods, reaching out for Yuta as he comes near. Yuta laughs, setting the bottle of lube next to him on the bed, and bending over him, slipping a hand behind his neck, and giving him a kiss. Taeyong brings one of his hands up to Yuta’s cheek; anything for more contact. He sighs when Yuta pulls back, straightening and reaching for the discarded lube.

Yuta spreads Taeyong’s legs, forcing him to bend his knees so he can fold his thighs on either side of his stomach. “You’re so flexible,” Yuta notes as he presses the tip of a lube-slick finger against Taeyong’s hole. 

“I dance,” Taeyong explains breathily, and Yuta makes an _I see_ noise in his throat, nodding. 

Taeyong doesn’t know where he wants to be looking the most. The sight of Yuta’s cock, still wet from Taeyong’s spit, hard and red and drooling precome, makes Taeyong’s mouth water. But then he’s distracted by Yuta’s biceps and his gorgeous hands, and then by his hair, still partially slicked back, so handsome. The silver chain Yuta is wearing dangles low when he bends over him, pushing his index finger into Taeyong. It burns a little, but the feeling quickly subsides and is replaced by warm pleasure. Taeyong lets out a breathy moan, and Yuta looks up at him.

“Feel good, honey?” he asks, and Taeyong feels like he’s going to melt into the mattress.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Feels g-good.” He arches his back a little, trying to take Yuta deeper, but Yuta just moves with him, laughing a little when he whines.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” he says, using his other hand to hold Taeyong’s hips down so he can pump in and out uninterrupted. He bends down so he can press kisses to Taeyong’s inner thighs and Taeyong trembles under his lips.

“You won’t hurt me,” Taeyong argues. “And I wouldn’t mind if you did. Please, daddy, I want more.”

“Fuck, Taeyong,” Yuta says, giving exactly what he wants, slipping a second finger in alongside the first. “ _That_ is gonna be the death of me.”

Taeyong just hums happily, clenching down around his fingers to get him to move. The glide is easy, and wet; each thrust makes a squelching noise, and even though it’s gross, Taeyong loves it. Yuta pushes in, curling his fingers, and Taeyong’s eyes roll back in his head. 

“ _Da-ddy_ ,” he moans, long and drawn out, as Yuta does it again, his sharp, wide smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, _ah_ , right there, there.”

He gasps in breaths, but all he can do is whine and cry while Yuta takes his time opening him up. He can feel each stroke in his whole body, and he whimpers high and loud when Yuta pushes his fingers over his prostate. It knocks the wind out of him each time, and he knows it won’t be long before he starts crying. 

“You sound so good,” Yuta says, adding another finger. Taeyong’s cock drools out more precome, where it’s quickly collecting into a little puddle on his tummy. It doesn’t slip Yuta’s notice. “So messy already. You sure you can take my cock?”

“I’m _sure_ ,” Taeyong insists. “If you would hurry up, I could show you.”

“Don’t be a brat.” Yuta crams his pinky in, shoving his fingers deep and then flexing them outward to make it stretch and sear. Taeyong cries out, more from shock than anything else. The pain goes straight to his head with the pleasure, and his hips twitch against his will. His head already feels fuzzy and slow, and he’s not even aware of the noises he’s making anymore—not that he could do anything about them, anyway. Yuta walks the careful line between too hard and too soft, between too much and not enough, so Taeyong thinks he’s allowed to lose his mind a little. He’d always had a thing for older guys (though never _this_ old, never this experienced) and now he knows exactly why.

Faintly, he realizes Yuta’s asked him something. “S-sorry, what?”

Yuta laughs a little. “Already a little dumb?” Taeyong can’t deny it. “I asked if you were ready.”

“Yes,” Taeyong says before Yuta’s even done asking the question. “Yes, I need it.”

“Oh, _need_ it?” Yuta’s just saying it though; he withdraws his fingers and Taeyong watches him spread lube over his cock. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“It’s _not_ ,” Taeyong insists. “I mean it.”

“I think you’re just greedy,” Yuta says, but he lines his cock up all the same, pressing slow into Taeyong’s hole. It aches, but he doesn’t care, just smiles when Yuta presses his knees back further so he can fuck him deeper. “Happy now?”

“Mm, yes,” Taeyong breathes. “‘M so _full_ , fuck.”

Yuta just huffs above him. His hair is finally really falling from where he clearly so carefully gelled it into place that morning. He looks absolutely gorgeous, and it’s so unfair. For a second, Taeyong feels like a stupid little kid in comparison, but then Yuta thrusts back in and hits his prostate dead-on, and Taeyong wails, all thoughts flying out the window. Yuta grabs his hips and shifts them up a little so he can get a better angle, so he can really drill into him. Taeyong’s blood feels like honey in his veins, warm and slow and sweet.

“Take me so well,” Yuta praises, rolling his hips, grinding into him hard and dirty. The pool of slick on Taeyong’s stomach is obscene; he hiccups in breaths, barely managing to keep his head above the waves of heat coursing through his body. He’s shaking with it, so close already, fleeting thoughts barely registering as they flash through his head—he hopes to god they’ll do this again, and for longer, because all he wants is for Yuta to make him come on his cock again and again, until he can’t speak, until all he can do is cry and beg, _daddy, daddy, please._ He wants to feel it everywhere; he wants to feel it for days after, doesn’t mind if his fellow interns catch him limping. Right now, he wouldn’t even mind the shame of one of them finding out. Because, after all, _he’s_ the one that pulled the middle-aged man who’s built like he’s sculpted from marble. He’s Taeyong’s perfect fit—Taeyong almost giggles at the idea. Yuta is the museum exhibit, and Taeyong is like the gift-shop miniature, fragile porcelain, more common, but still pretty. They’re a matched set.

“ _Oh_ ,” he mewls, caught off guard, when Yuta wraps a hand around his cock. “Fuck, daddy, _ugh_ , it’s so—so—“ He can’t finish the thought, too caught up in how everything feels to speak. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and he blinks slowly, realizes there’s tears welled in his eyes. They roll down to his temples, but he can’t be bothered to swipe them away, even when it gets a little uncomfortable. 

“So what, babydoll?” Yuta asks, mostly just to tease. 

Taeyong doesn’t bother answering, just grabs a fistful of the sheets, letting little _ahs_ of want escape his lips in time with Yuta’s thrusts. Yuta doesn’t let him catch his breath, just keeps going, petting the back of one of his thighs with the hand that isn’t jacking him off to comfort him, even while he’s railing him within an inch of his life—Taeyong wonders faintly if it’s possible to die from fucking, but if it is, he’s not sure he minds. 

“Daddy,” he whimpers. “I’m close, pl-please, faster.”

Yuta obliges, speeding up both his fist and his hips, and Taeyong knows he asked for it, but he screams, letting it trail into a sob. It’s so much, and it’s so good, and he really wishes he could warn Yuta, but he’s too far gone to form words now.

Luckily, Yuta has him. He leans forward a little, and though he’s smiling indulgently, Taeyong can see the undercurrent of desire rippling beneath the surface. He dips even closer, mouthing over Taeyong’s neck. His breath and tongue are hot on Taeyong’s skin, and his voice is silk when he asks, “You gonna come for daddy, little boy?”

And, _god_ , it’s so fucked up of him, but Taeyong hears the words _little boy_ , and he’s done. He recognizes faintly that he’s crying himself hoarse, but it’s not as important as the way he’s spilling over Yuta’s fingers, hips jerking weakly, pleasure washing over him with heat so intense he thinks he may very well pass out. It subsides, though, and gives way to a semi-numbness. He can’t feel his toes, and as he comes back down, he finds himself giggling. 

He reaches up and tucks a lock of Yuta’s hair behind his ear, keeping his hand there on the side of his face. “Mm, daddy,” he breathes. “You look so handsome.” 

The look in Yuta’s eyes is dangerous, and he just growls in response. Taeyong knows he’s going to be playing _that_ sound back in his mind, over and over, for the next forever. Now that he’s come, he realizes how sore he is, but he doesn’t want Yuta to stop, so he tries to stifle his little hurt noises. If Yuta notices, he doesn’t say anything about it, just keeps fucking into him, chasing his own release.

“Gonna make me come, baby,” he grits out, low and thick.

“Want your come, daddy, please,” Taeyong begs. “Wanna feel you.”

“Fuck, baby.” Yuta’s grip on Taeyong’s waist is bruising; his nails dig into Taeyong’s skin, sure to leave little crescent-shaped red marks. He moans breathily, and then he stills as he comes, head of his cock pressed snug to Taeyong’s swollen prostate, filling Taeyong with sticky, wet heat. And Taeyong, _nasty_ just the way Yuta had accused, fucking loves it.

The air is filled only with the sound of their breathing for a minute. Taeyong runs his hands through Yuta’s sweaty hair, making little content noises. He kind of wishes Yuta didn’t have to pull out (again, nasty), but they have to shower, and then sleep. _And besides_ , he thinks to himself, _there’s always tomorrow._

Yuta raises his head, reaching up to wipe away some of Taeyong’s drying tears. “Hey, baby,” he whispers, and Taeyong giggles.

“Hey, daddy,” he says back, and Yuta rolls his eyes, pushing himself up and off, pulling out gingerly as he goes. Taeyong gives him a discontented look, but struggles into a sitting position so Yuta can pull him to his feet.

“You’re ridiculous,” Yuta says when they’re nose to nose. Taeyong giggles again, biting his lip a little when he feels some of Yuta’s come drip down his thigh. “We need a shower, don’t we?” 

“Yeah,” Taeyong says softly. 

“Come on, then.” Yuta takes his hand, leading him into the master bathroom and starting the water. He gives Taeyong a series of quick, chaste kisses as they wait for the water to heat up.

Yuta helps him clean up, since Taeyong’s limbs don’t seem to be wanting to cooperate. He leans his head against Yuta’s shoulder, cradled against his body as he rinses him off, Yuta’s lips pressed to his ear. Yuta even dries him off after wrapping a towel around his own hips, his touches gentle. Taeyong watches him drowsily. He isn’t any less beautiful now, even after Taeyong’s gotten the good fucking he was looking for. 

“What is it, honey?” Yuta asks as he fluffs Taeyong’s hair with the towel.

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” Taeyong asks.

Yuta coos, and kisses his forehead. “Yes,” he says. “I’d like that.”

Warmed, Taeyong lets his eyes flutter shut, lets Yuta finish drying him off, lets him guide him back to the bedroom and slip a soft t-shirt over his head, and then wrap him up under the duvet.

He curls into Yuta’s chest, breathing in his scent. He’s barely known him two weeks, but already it’s comforting and familiar, just like the way Yuta is running his fingertips up and down over his spine. A pang of anxiety hits him, though, and he looks up at Yuta to find him looking back, expression unreadable.

“Yuta?” he says softly. “What happens now?”

Yuta shrugs with one shoulder. “We go to sleep,” he replies. “Tomorrow, who knows? Anything we want. We’ll talk about it, okay? But it won’t do any good to try and sort it all out now. Is that okay?”

Taeyong closes his eyes again, tucking his chin back down, one hand splayed against Yuta’s sternum. “Yeah,” he murmurs sleepily. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!!! you can find me on tumblr [here](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about)! 
> 
> Please take my survey about pairings for my upcoming nct fic [here](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdzfucNpy-ipPc2VZqSzPkkXnEeJ1f5kDBOMKWuuFHqKE_XdQ/viewform?usp=sf_link)! more info in the desc of the form!


	3. kiss my fruit punch lips (in the bright sunshine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is literally just smut. have fun!

Taeyong wakes in an unfamiliar bed. He forgets where he is for a second, still half asleep, and then he realizes the arms around him belong to Yuta, and he relaxes back into the pillow. Yuta is still asleep, breathing soft and steady.

He’d been too exhausted the night before to do much thinking, but now he’s rested and working his way up to full brain capacity. With it comes a flood of anxiety. It’s not that he wishes he hadn’t done it, he’s just worried. What if Yuta did? What if he drives him home in tense silence and then they never talk again? Or, somehow just as bad, what if Yuta likes him and they keep doing this all summer, only to have to say goodbye come the end of August? What would his friends think if they found out? Or, god forbid, his parents? His heart thuds in his chest at the thought. They’d never let him out of their sight again.

Yuta shifts beside him, like he can tell Taeyong’s distressed, smoothing a hand down his back as he blinks his eyes open. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” Taeyong whispers back, bottom lip trembling a little.

“You alright? You look a little stressed for—“ Yuta cranes his neck around to check the clock “—half past ten in the morning.”

Taeyong huffs out a little laugh. “Yeah, ‘m just—thinking.”

“I’m assuming some of these thoughts are about me,” Yuta says with a crooked smile. “Well, why don’t we get up and have some breakfast, and think together?”

Taeyong nods, following Yuta out of the warm comfort of the blankets and down the stairs. The t-shirt Yuta gave him is so long it reaches Taeyong’s mid-thigh, but he’s still quite aware of his pantslessness as he watches Yuta in front of him, in a full set of black pajamas. 

Yuta sets the kettle to boil, and opens the fridge. “Leftover stew okay with you?” he asks, and Taeyong hums in agreement, sitting down at the table. Yuta sets the pot on the stove, and then turns around, leaning back on the counter, and appraises Taeyong. “So,” he says. “What were you thinking about?”

Taeyong picks a little at his cuticles, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he contemplates where to begin. “I think,” he says. “I think it’s just the basic anxiety that comes with a new, um, getting involved with a new person. Plus, well, we’re not exactly conventional. It’s not your fault. It’s just hard.”

“I see,” Yuta says, nodding. “Anything I can do to make it a little easier?”

Taeyong shrugs. “I mean, my main fear is getting found out, I guess. But I also don’t want—I don’t want to stop, either.”

Yuta smiles kindly, leaning back a little to check on the stew. “Well, we seem to be in the same place there, then.” He looks back at Taeyong. “We’ll let each other know if anything changes. For now, we’ll just do our best with what we have, yeah?”

Taeyong nods. “Yeah. What about—what about the end of summer, though?”

Yuta brings the pot to the table with a sigh. “I hate to be like this, but it’s pretty far off, and we have no way of knowing what will happen between now and then.”

“Just worried about it, that’s all,” Taeyong mumbles as Yuta dishes him out a serving of stew. “I don’t want it to all just—end. Wouldn’t that mean it would be for nothing?”

Yuta hums. “First of all, we don’t _have_ to stop talking once the summer is over if you don’t want to. We’ll see where we are, right? And even if we do, it’s not for nothing.” He looks up at Taeyong through his bangs. “I’m having fun, and I think you are too. It’s not nothing.”

“I guess so,” Taeyong acquiesces. It’s not the perfect answer, but, he realizes as he digs into the soup, there’s not really a perfect answer to be had. But it’s good enough, and he does feel more at ease. 

“So, do you want to stay the rest of the weekend?” Yuta asks.

“Can I?” Taeyong says. “It’s okay if you don’t want me to.”

“I want you to,” Yuta assures quickly, “but if you’d rather go back to yours and get some work done, or just be able to be on your own for a bit, that’s fine.”

“No, I’d like to stay,” Taeyong says. “I’ll need more clothes, though.”

Yuta nods. “After we eat, let’s run back to yours, then, so you can pick up a few things. I have some work to do today, so if you have some as well, you should grab it while we’re there.” 

“Okay,” Taeyong says, though he has some other plans for today stored in the back of his mind. “Sounds good.”

They clean up together, and Taeyong finds a pair of pants, grabs his laundry, and then slides into the passenger seat. Yuta backs out of his garage, and Taeyong takes in the street as it comes into view. The storm definitely did some damage. There’s snapped-off branches littering the ground, some the size of Taeyong’s legs, and a lot of the flowers and bushes that people have in their yards are flattened. A couple of Yuta’s trees look worse for wear.

“Yikes,” Taeyong says softly.

Yuta laughs. “Oh, we’ll be fine. See? The sky’s clear.”

He’s right. Despite the wreckage, the sky is a chipper, bright blue. Yuta taps his thumbs on the steering wheel as he drives, squinting against the sun even through his shades, and Taeyong watches him. Again, anxiety rises in a wave in his stomach, but Taeyong pushes it down. It won’t do him any good. Besides, right now his priority is to get fucked as much as he possibly can before this ends.

Yuta pulls up to the curb by Taeyong’s apartment building. They’re already trying to fix the power, but the tree is giving the maintenance team a bit of trouble. 

“Looks like it’ll be another day at least,” Yuta notes.

“Mm-hmm,” Taeyong says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Lucky I have you.”

Yuta scoffs under his breath, but his eyes are full of humor. Taeyong gives him a cheeky smile as he slips out of the car, heading into his building. It’s dark and still, and Taeyong is so happy he has Yuta’s house and Yuta’s bed and Yuta’s arms to keep him comfortable. He shoulders his way into his apartment, dropping his dirty clothes in his hamper and pulling out a few outfits and throwing them in his bag. His eyes rake over some more scandalous clothing pieces, but he ultimately decides to leave it for another day. _I have all summer,_ he thinks. _Plenty of time to spring surprises._

He also grabs his computer and a few other things for work, because as much as he wants to spend every minute of this weekend on Yuta’s dick, he _does_ have a couple things to get done. With one last look around, he’s out the door and back on the street. 

“All set?” Yuta asks when he opens the door. 

“Yep,” he says, getting settled. Yuta throws the car in reverse and Taeyong watches him drive. He’s pushed his shades back onto the top of his head, and a few strands of his bangs hang down in the gaps of the frames, brushing his forehead. Taeyong thinks he could stare at him forever.

“What’re you looking at me like that for, baby?” Yuta asks, glancing over them when they’re stopped at a light.

“You’re handsome when you drive,” Taeyong says.

“Just when I drive?” Yuta prods, and Taeyong rolls his eyes.

“You’re _especially_ handsome when you drive,” he amends. “Happy?”

“Mm, very,” Yuta says, grinning. He reaches over and cups a hand on Taeyong’s inner thigh. He doesn’t squeeze or anything, just kind of sets it there, running his thumb back and forth. It’s stupid that such a little thing can make Taeyong’s breath hitch in his throat, but it does.

They climb back up the hill, up to Yuta’s neighborhood. Yuta never moves his hand, and Taeyong is lulled by the rhythmic movement of his thumb. It takes him half a second to shake himself out of it when they pull into the garage, and as soon as Yuta is out of the car, Taeyong skips up to him, bag in hand, and gives him a kiss.

It gets him exactly what he wants. Yuta kisses back, only breaking away so they can kick off their shoes and get in the house. Yuta braces a hand on the back of Taeyong’s head as he crowds him against the hallway wall. Taeyong smiles, moaning softly for show, jaw going slack when Yuta presses his tongue into his mouth. He grabs Yuta’s hips, trying to tug him closer so he can press himself up against his thigh and try to get him to fuck him before he settles down to work, but Yuta’s too smart for that, and doesn’t let him. Instead, he takes a step back, pulling away with a laugh, running his hands through his hair.

“As much as I could do this—“ he gestures vaguely to Taeyong’s whole person “—all day, I really do have work to do. I have to listen through an album, make some edits, and then get ready for a meeting I have to call into.” He brushes a little hair from Taeyong’s eyes. “You can do your work, or explore the house, or whatever suits you. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”

“Is it a video chat?” Taeyong asks innocently.

“What?”

“The meeting, do you have to have your video on?”

“No,” Yuta says slowly, eyebrows pinching a little in confusion. “I can see them, the meeting room, but they won’t see me, just hear me. Dare I ask why?”

“I was just thinking about what you said yesterday,” Taeyong says, nonchalant. “About how you’d like it if I sat on your cock while you worked, you know, to keep it warm? And then when you’re done with your meeting you could fuck me. I swear I’ll be good. I’ll sit still. And if it’s too distracting, then you can tell me to fuck off. But I thought—I just thought it might be fun to try.”

Yuta tilts his head back and kind of chuckles at the ceiling. “What on earth am I going to do with you?” he says. “You give me so many terrible ideas.”

“We can stop anytime,” Taeyong presses. “And since they can’t see you, it’ll be fine, right?”

Yuta shrugs, still laughing. “Yeah, can’t argue with that. Come on then, baby. To my study.”

Taeyong grins happily, plucking his bag back up, and heads up the stairs behind Yuta. They make a detour to the bedroom so that he can drop the bag off and Yuta can grab the lube. “Do you have a plug?” Taeyong asks him shyly when he’s poking around in his drawer.

“I do,” Yuta says, looking up and giving him a knowing look. “What, you want me to fuck you and then plug you?”

“Mm-hmm,” Taeyong says, nodding. “I like feeling—feeling full.”

“You’re a menace,” Yuta says, but he grabs a pretty silicone plug anyway. It’s a nice pink, and has pieces of glitter embedded in it. Taeyong stares at it as he follows Yuta down the hall and into his study. Yuta sits down, dropping the lube and the plug on the desk in front of him, and then scoots the chair back a little. “C’mere, baby. Facing the desk.”

Taeyong does as he’s told. He’s buzzing; he’s only done this once before, with a fling in the fall, but he remembers it being warm and soothing. Yuta’s hands are on the waistband of his sweats, and he wiggles his hips a little to help Yuta tug them down to his ankles. Next go his underwear, and then he steps out of both, bending over the desk a little when Yuta nudges his lower back with two fingers.

Yuta takes his time prepping him, and Taeyong does appreciate it, knows he’ll be more comfortable, but he’s also impatient. _One of these days_ , he thinks to himself, _I’ll get him to break me._

Finally, Yuta’s satisfied, and Taeyong turns around to climb onto his lap. Yuta raises the armrests of his chair up so Taeyong has space for his legs. He doesn’t take his pants off, just unbuttons and unzips them, and pulls his cock out to slick it up. Taeyong straddles Yuta’s thighs, hiking his shirt up a little to get it out of the way so he can sink down on Yuta’s cock. 

Yuta wraps his arms around him as he bottoms out, and he melts into Yuta’s chest, resting his cheek on his shoulder. The head of Yuta’s cock is pressed snug against Taeyong’s prostate, and he resists the urge to rock back against it. He promised he’d be good.

Yuta cranes his neck so he can kiss Taeyong’s head. “You okay, honey?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Taeyong breathes out. He didn’t mean for it to come out so soft, almost a moan, but it does. “Feels nice.”

“Anytime you wanna stop, just let me know, okay?” Yuta runs a hand up and down Taeyong’s back as he scoots the chair back towards the desk. “Don’t want it to be too much for you.”

“Mm, okay,” Taeyong says, though he doubts it’ll be a problem. He feels warm and safe and full; though his own cock is sitting half-hard against his thigh, he barely notices it. He wraps his arms around Yuta’s shoulders, turning his head to kiss Yuta’s pulse point. His eyelids feel heavy already. “If I fall asleep, that’s okay. You don’t have to wake me up or anything. I don’t mind.” The last thing he wants is for Yuta to break the contact.

“Okay,” Yuta says easily, reaching for his headphones. “Gonna have these on, so if you need me, poke me or something.”

Taeyong nods, and then Yuta puts the headphones on and gets to work. Taeyong whimpers quietly to himself, more a natural reaction than anything, satisfied in knowing he’s not disturbing Yuta since he can’t hear him anyway. Pleasure runs thick and slow under his skin, thrumming in time with his heartbeat. He keeps his lips on Yuta, sucking and biting little marks into his neck to keep his mouth busy. Occasionally, Yuta will hum out a low moan, hand that isn’t on the keyboard sneaking down to squeeze Taeyong’s ass—not hard, just a little reminder that he absolutely _does_ feel it when Taeyong clenches a little around him.

Taeyong doesn’t quite fall asleep, but he is dozing a little; his eyes are closed and his breathing is steady and slow. He doesn’t know how much time passes—maybe an hour—but eventually, Yuta takes the headphones off with a sigh. He holds Taeyong’s waist with both hands, gentle but firm, playing with the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Still okay?” he asks softly, and Taeyong leans back a little so he can look him in the eye.

“Feels so good, daddy,” he tells him. Yuta gives him an adoring look, one hand coming up to smooth his hair.

“My meeting starts in just a little bit, so you’ll have to be quiet. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” Taeyong promises. He shifts a little, making them both gasp with the movement. 

“Okay.” Yuta kisses his temple. “You look so pretty. You’ve been so good for me.” Taeyong preens a little, leaning in for a kiss. Yuta obliges, kissing him sweet and deep before breaking away with a groan. “I promise as soon as I’m done I’ll give you what we both want,” he says, and Taeyong makes a happy noise in his throat, settling back into Yuta’s chest.

Yuta’s meeting starts, voices coming in a rush over his speakers. Yuta says hello, and his voice is so even and measured. Taeyong’s skin grows hot. They have no idea the things he’s been up to, is currently up to—what would they think, if they knew Yuta had a pretty little 20-year-old boy in his lap right now, biting back whines, tongue on his skin, Yuta’s cock rammed up his ass? Taeyong shivers. It worries him a little, but the danger of them finding out is very slim, so it mostly just turns him on. Yuta leans forward to look at something and Taeyong covers his mouth with his hand so he doesn’t gasp.

When he’s done commenting, Yuta shifts back and Taeyong can’t stop the whimper this time. “Sorry, baby,” Yuta murmurs. “I’m muted now, though, it’s okay.” Taeyong whimpers again, louder this time now that he has permission. “What is it?”

“Feels so _dirty_ , daddy,” he mumbles.

“But you like dirty, don’t you?” Yuta goads.

“Yes,” Taeyong agrees, high and soft. “Feels good. Bet they’d wish they could have me, if they knew. But they can’t.”

“You only want me?” Yuta asks.

“Mm, yes,” Taeyong says. “Want you. Wish I could sit on your dick all the time,” he adds with a giggle, kind of meaning it.

Yuta laughs, too. “Maybe not all the time,” he says. “But more often, that can be arranged.”

“Yuta-ssi, what did you think of track 7?” Someone in the meeting is calling for Yuta’s attention, and he quickly lurches forward to unmute so he can talk. Taeyong’s heart hammers in his ribcage, but he’s also _so_ hard. It’s so naughty; he always knew he was a bit of an exhibitionist, but never this much. Maybe it’s just Yuta. Maybe he just likes the idea of Yuta showing him off, of Yuta wanting him all the time.

Taeyong knows he promised he wouldn’t move, promised he’d be good, but he can’t stop himself. His cock is leaking against his thigh now, precome dribbling down to Yuta’s pants, and he’s a little out of breath, just imagining Yuta using him as a cocksleeve while he goes about his day. _More often_ , he thinks. _How often?_ Would he let him do this during his other meetings too? While he was watching TV? While Taeyong works? He can’t wait to find out. He rolls his hips a couple times, minuscule movements, and his jaw goes slack at the feeling of Yuta’s cock dragging against his insides. 

“Baby,” Yuta warns, low and gravelly in his ear. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry, daddy,” Taeyong pants. He doesn’t stop. “I can’t help it.”

“I think you _can_ ,” Yuta growls, digging his fingers into his hips. “You’re lucky my part’s over.”

“I’ll stay quiet if you do,” Taeyong says, shifting his hips again, surpassing a little grunt when Yuta thrusts up to meet him. “If you really want me to stop, I’ll stop. But I don’t think you do.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Yuta says, and Taeyong just smiles to himself. 

“Maybe,” he replies sweetly as he grinds down in Yuta’s lap. Yuta drops his head back against the headrest. “Hopefully not for a while though. I prefer you alive.”

Yuta huffs out a laugh, disbelief painted on his face. “You’re incorrigible,” he accuses.

The meeting is wrapping up; Yuta will have to say his goodbyes soon. Taeyong just keeps moving, though. He’s so close. Yuta just kind of lets him, waiting his turn to thank everyone for their time. Right when he’s about to, he wraps his hand around Taeyong’s cock, giving him a few harsh pumps as he leans forward to say, “Have a great rest of your weekend, everyone!”

Taeyong opens his mouth in a silent scream, coming all over Yuta’s hand and the front of his shirt as Yuta exits the meeting. 

“You’re such a liar,” Yuta snarls, still moving his fist over Taeyong’s cock even though he’s already spent. “A liar, and a slut. What happened to being good and sitting still?”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Taeyong says, though he’s not very sorry at all. “Just felt so good, and I thought about doing this for you whenever you have meetings like this, or when you were working, or just watching TV or something.” He pouts. “So, like, you wouldn’t get bored.”

“Fuck, babydoll.” Yuta pushes some things aside on his desk, and then stands, laying Taeyong back on it. His head bumps against the monitor, but he’s too busy squealing at the way Yuta’s fucking him to care. He links his ankles behind Yuta’s back, legs wrapped around his waist. “You really meant it when you said ‘all the time’, huh? You really _are_ a little slut. Can’t bear to walk around empty. That’s why you wanted me to grab this plug, right? Always need to have something up your ass to feel satisfied.”

He’s fucking him so hard the desk is bouncing against the wall, and Taeyong can do nothing but take it, fingers scrabbling in vain against the smooth surface to the desk. “Can’t help it,” he defends weakly. “It’s not my fault.” His mouth feels slow and clumsy.

“No?” Yuta asks. “Then how come other people get by just fine?”

Taeyong can’t form an answer, can hardly think. He’s barely recovered from his first orgasm, and Yuta’s quickly bringing him to a second one. He has a sort of swooping feeling in his stomach, and he knows it’s cliche, but it feels so good he could cry. Yuta knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly how to touch him to make him unravel. He thinks a little blearily that he might be ruined for other, more inexperienced people now that he’s had this—Yuta, screwing him stupid, so sweetly that he hardly notices until it’s too late, until he’s too far gone to do anything about it.

Yuta slips a couple fingers into his mouth, and Taeyong sucks on instinct, looking up at him wide-eyed. Yuta tugs a little at the inside of his cheeks, and Taeyong moans around his fingers, bringing a hand up to hold onto Yuta’s wrist—not to push him away, but to cling. Yuta presses his fingers against the back of Taeyong’s tongue and Taeyong lets himself gag a little, just for show.

“God, you’re so sweet,” Yuta murmurs. “How’d I get so lucky with you?”

Taeyong whines, long and pitchy, letting his eyes flutter shut. Yuta withdraws his fingers so he can jack Taeyong off, keeping the same brutal pace, the sharp smack of skin on skin ringing throughout the room. “D-daddy,” Taeyong stutters out. “Oh, _fuck_ , daddy.”

“That’s good, baby, say my name,” Yuta says, but though his words are condescending, his tone is light and breathless. “I’m close.” Taeyong is too; he wishes he had the presence of mind to warn him, but he can’t. “Do you want my come, baby?”

All Taeyong can do is nod, a couple of hot tears squeezing their way out of his eyes as he wails. Yuta is hitting his prostate with every thrust, and each movement of his hand on Taeyong’s cock makes another bolt of pleasure sear through him. Yuta’s groaning, and as Taeyong feels the beginnings of his release inside him, he remembers Yuta’s going to plug him after, and his eyes roll back in his head, hips twitching as he comes.

Yuta has him plugged before Taeyong can even process that he’s pulled out. Taeyong clenches experimentally around the cute, pink silicone and gasps at the feeling, a little overstimulated but greedy more. He sees Yuta looking at him, unbuttoning his soiled shirt.

“Are you—“ Taeyong starts. “Are you actually mad? Did I distract too much from your meeting?”

“No, honey,” Yuta soothes, reaching a hand out to help him stand. “If you were, I would’ve told you, or made you stop. No, I liked it.” He gives him a conspiratorial smile, laughing a little when Taeyong stumbles. “How about we get cleaned up and then have a quick nap before dinner?”

“Sounds good to me,” Taeyong agrees. He follows Yuta back into his bedroom, where they strip out of their dirty clothes and clean off a layer of sweat with a damp washcloth. Taeyong finds a clean pair of underwear, tighter ones to help keep the plug snug and secure in his ass, and then he picks out a soft t-shirt. When he turns around, Yuta’s lowering the blinds, wearing only a pair of black briefs.

“I usually sleep naked,” he admits when he catches Taeyong’s eye. “Didn’t want to scare you last night. But—well. I’m coming to the conclusion that there’s little either of us could do to scare the other.”

Taeyong giggles. “That’s probably true,” he says as he gets into bed. “I usually just sleep in a big t-shirt. I’m only wearing underwear now because...” He gestures vaguely.

“I’m glad we’re both free-spirited,” Yuta says as he slides in next to him, snuggling close.

“Actually, I saw an alignment chart online that labeled sleeping naked as neutral evil,” Taeyong says sleepily. “I’m pretty sure that makes my behavior chaotic evil.”

“I’m not exactly sure what you’re talking about,” Yuta says delicately. “But chaotic evil does kind of sum up all your behavior today.”

“I can be worse,” Taeyong offers, and Yuta laughs. 

“So can I,” he says. “For example—on the topic of how we sleep, you mentioned earlier that if you fell asleep, not to wake you, that you didn’t mind. Last night, you also said something about that—that I could fuck you in the morning when I wake up, even if you’re still asleep. Is that something you want to try?”

Taeyong balks a little. “Maybe not, like, now—”

“No, of course not,” Yuta says quickly, laughing. “Today wouldn’t make sense. I just figured I’d ask.”

“I mean, yeah, I would—I would like that,” Taeyong says. “You don’t have to. I just—I think it would be really hot, to wake up to you fucking me. That’s all.”

A quiet groan rumbles in Yuta’s chest, and it buzzes in Taeyong’s head. “Okay, noted,” he murmurs. Taeyong yawns, and then giggles to himself when Yuta automatically yawns in response. “Let’s sleep,” Yuta says, unnecessarily; Taeyong is already halfway under. “When we wake up, we can cook.”

Taeyong falls asleep sated and warm.

~ * ~

When Taeyong wakes up, Yuta is shifting in the bed beside him. He stretches, and mumbles out, “What time is it?”

“A little after six,” Yuta tells him quietly. “You can keep sleeping if you want.” 

But Taeyong shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I wanna come help. Plus, I wanna be able to sleep well tonight.” He sits up, and the forgotten plug in his ass makes itself known. He stifles a gasp, heat flooding down to his cock immediately. He moves gingerly, blinking rapidly when Yuta pulls the blinds open, revealing the gentle sunshine of a summer evening. 

They both dress quietly, and then head down to the kitchen to see what there is to eat. Yuta realizes he has lettuce that needs eating, so they settle on pork belly wraps. Taeyong busies himself washing the rice and vegetables while Yuta cuts up the meat.

Soon the kitchen is filled with the rich scent of frying meat, and Yuta is guiding Taeyong around in a silly little waltz to his rock music as they wait for it to cook. They’re both laughing, and Taeyong’s heart squeezes a little in his chest because it’s so sweet and intimate.

If someone asked him how he thought the summer was going to go just a couple weeks ago, this wouldn’t have even been in his wildest fantasies. He expected himself to sleep around a little, have some one-night stands, get drunk and go home with someone and probably regret it the next morning—but not this. And yet, here he is, barefoot in an older man’s kitchen, wrapped up in his arms, dancing, laughing, while food sizzles on the stove.

Dinner is light and sweet. Yuta insists he doesn’t know the right way to eat ssambap, and makes Taeyong show him how. Taeyong makes him one happily, feeding it to him across the table. Yuta licks the extra ssamjang off his fingers while Taeyong giggles. 

Taeyong eats until he can’t anymore, groaning that he’s going to die. Yuta agrees with pained laughter.

“You’d think,” he says, “After so many years of being alive, I’d know not to overeat anymore, but—“ he gestures to their cleared plates. “I guess some lessons bear repeating.”

Taeyong’s helping Yuta carry everything to the sink when his phone buzzes in the pocket of his sweatpants. He carefully places the dishes in the sink, wiping his hands off on a towel, and sees the call is from Jaehyun. 

“I think I should take this,” Taeyong says, now a little concerned. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s okay,” Yuta assures him as he quickly makes his way out of the room. 

“Hey,” Taeyong says, sitting down on the couch. “What’s up?”

“Open your fuckin’ door, dude,” Jaehyun says. “I heard you guys lost power, so I figured I’d bring you some dinner. Were you sleeping or something? I’ve been out here for like five or ten minutes now.”

“Oh, shit, Jae, why didn’t you text me first? I’m not home,” Taeyong says. “I—I—” he looks up in the direction of the kitchen, unsure how exactly to explain himself. “I’m at a family friend’s place,” he lies. “He lives in the area, and I told him our power went out, so he offered to let me stay the weekend while they fix it.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. It’s really sweet of you, to bring me food. I’m sorry you had to carry it all that way.”

“No, it’s cool,” Jaehyun says. “It’s on me, I should’ve texted first. Just wanted to surprise you, I guess.”

“Well, I’m surprised, so at least you got that one,” Taeyong says, and Jaehyun laughs.

“Okay, well. I’m glad you don’t have to suffer through a power outage, then. Have a good rest of your weekend. See you Monday.”

“Yeah, see you,” Taeyong echoes, letting Jaehyun hang up. He bites his lip. Jaehyun was nice about it, but he feels kinda bad. He can’t shake the vaguely guilty feeling. If he were _normal_ , he would’ve texted Jaehyun or one of the other guys once he got home on Friday and asked for help, or if he could stay with them. If he were normal, he and Jaehyun would be laughing over takeout right now. Maybe they’d play video games, or drink a little too much. If he were normal, maybe he’d be _into_ Jaehyun _,_ or Johnny, or Ten, or that sweet, quiet intern in the composing department, Kun. 

But instead, he’s got a couple screws loose, and he’s fucking a guy almost old enough to be his father. It’s not that he regrets it, he’s just worried he may be missing out a little on, like, normal college student experiences. _But then again_ , he thinks as he shifts and the plug bumps against his prostate, _I’m not a normal college student._ He clenches a few times around it, letting the pleasure numb him to his worries. _I’d much rather be here_.

Yuta comes around the corner. “There you are,” he says gently. “Everything okay?”

Taeyong nods slowly. “It’s not a big deal,” he says. “Jaehyun—he’s the one who walked with us to the taxi that night at the club—he brought me food, like, to my apartment. But he didn’t tell me he was coming, so… I don’t know. It just caught me off guard.”

“What’d you tell him?” Yuta asks, sitting down next to Taeyong. 

“Just that I was staying at a family friend’s house,” Taeyong says, trying not to cringe. “He didn’t, like, ask about it.”

“I’m not, you know, keeping you from your friends, right?” Yuta asks, concerned. “I don’t want to do that.”

“No,” Taeyong says quickly. “I see them all the time. It’s not a big deal,” he repeats, leaning his head on Yuta’s shoulder. Yuta wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer. “Besides,” Taeyong continues. “I don’t really mind if you do keep me from them a little bit. It’s not like any of them can fuck me like you do.”

Yuta’s hand tightens a little on his arm. “You sure?” he teases. “You never know; you sure you don’t wanna check?”

Taeyong rolls his eyes. “I’m sure,” he says. “Never had anybody like you, daddy.”

“Aw, you mean it?” Yuta asks. His hand snakes lower, pulling Taeyong across his lap so he can palm his ass. “Or is it just because this—” He presses against the flat end of the plug, making Taeyong lurch forward a little “—has turned off your brain?”

“ _Ah_ , please,” Taeyong whines, though even he isn’t quite sure what he means by it. “Probably both,” he admits. “But ‘m not lying. You fuck so nice.”

“Yeah? You asking for something, baby?” Yuta slips his hand in Taeyong’s pants and twists the plug cruelly, making Taeyong cry out. “Tell me what you want.”

“Please fuck me, daddy,” Taeyong says, smiling to himself at the way Yuta groans. “Please, I’m already prepped.”

“Nothing will ever be enough for you, will it?” It’s a rhetorical question. “Doesn’t matter how many times you get fucked, in how many ways, you’re still going to beg for more.”

“You can try to find my limit,” Taeyong suggests, gasping in surprise when Yuta slips out from under him, standing, and grabbing his hips, turning him so that his chest is pressed into the back cushions of the couch, feet dangling off the seat.

“Yeah, you want that?” Yuta asks. “Maybe one of these days I’ll see how many times I can make you come. Think that’ll fix it, or make you worse?” He pulls Taeyong’s shirt off, and then yanks his pants down to his knees, spreading his ass.

“Only one way to find out,” Taeyong pants back. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Yuta doesn’t give Taeyong the chance to reply; he pushes a spit-slick finger in beside the plug, and Taeyong squeezes his eyes shut with a yelp of surprise.

“Daddy, daddy, _hurts_ ,” he babbles, tipping forward over the couch, hands clinging uselessly to the back edge.

Yuta just laughs darkly behind him. “You stretch so good, baby,” he says. Taeyong can’t lie, once this initial pain fades a little, he realizes how fucking good it feels. Yuta pushes his finger deeper, pumping in and out shallowly. “Opening right up for me,” he murmurs. “Gorgeous.”

He withdraws the finger, and Taeyong catches his breath, listening to the clinking of Yuta’s belt buckle. Another drop of precome drools out of Taeyong’s cock, smearing against the couch cushion and his tummy. He resists the urge to rock forward. He knows he’ll get plenty of friction once Yuta really starts fucking him. It’s lucky Yuta’s couch is leather—it’ll be easier to clean.

Yuta’s hands are on his ass again, and he pulls out the plug with one fluid motion. Taeyong barely has the chance to register the sudden, stark emptiness before Yuta’s pushing his cock into him, one hand on the small of his back to hold him in place. Taeyong drops his head, burying it in the top of the couch cushion. He can’t spread his legs like he wants because his sweats are tangled around his knees, so it’s still a little tight, even though Taeyong’s been loose for hours. He’s already overwhelmed, already overstimulated, but it feels so good, and he alternates between bouncing back on Yuta’s cock, and grinding into the cushion in front of him.

There’s ringing in Taeyong’s ears; he’s been a little on edge all evening because of the plug, so he only realizes when his belly suddenly gets a lot slicker that he’s coming, all over himself and Yuta’s nice couch. He whines, wondering if Yuta has noticed, wondering if he’ll be angry, wondering if he’ll make him clean it up after. An image of Yuta snaring his fingers in Taeyong’s hair and forcing his head into his own mess, making him lick it up, appears in Taeyong’s mind, and he shakes, choking on a moan.

“Did you just come, baby?” Yuta asks, not slowing one bit, and Taeyong sobs.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” he forces out. “I didn’t mean to, it just happened. It’s— _a-ah fuck, daddy_ —it’s so messy, ‘m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Yuta soothes. “Neither of us mind a little mess, right?”

Taeyong sniffles, nodding. His body feels wrecked now—his ass is so sore, he wonders if he’s bleeding. He doesn’t mind though, happy to go limp and let Yuta finish taking him all the way apart. Even in pieces, Taeyong thinks he’d still want him. But as content as he is with letting Yuta tear him to shreds, it does hurt, so bad, so he hopes for the sake of his future self that Yuta won’t take long. 

Maybe Yuta can tell, though, because he pulls out and flips Taeyong over, maneuvering him onto his back and then climbing on top of him. He doesn’t put any weight on him, just hovers over him, knees framing Taeyong’s thighs. Taeyong leans back—he knows exactly what his plan is, and he’s happy to participate. He opens his mouth wide, and Yuta positions himself in front of him, one hand coming up to pat his cheek with a soft “good boy”. 

Taeyong lets Yuta abuse his throat, looking up at him through eyes bleary with tears. He breathes steadily, trying not to move too much, even as he feels Yuta’s come dripping out of his ruined hole and onto the couch. Yuta threads a hand through his hair, pulling tight, and Taeyong closes his eyes. He’s floating far away from his body, completely giving control over to Yuta. He realizes he's probably crying, and coughing a little as Yuta’s thrusts get harsher, but he can’t really feel it. 

“God, you’re so good, baby,” Yuta says, voice tight. “Gonna make me come, fuck—“ He pulls out, probably so Taeyong doesn’t choke, instead covering Taeyong’s chest with his come, breathing heavily as he recovers.

“Daddy,” Taeyong mumbles, squirming a little. He still doesn’t feel quite right, kind of feels like an exposed nerve, senses still dialed up to ten. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, though, and his words come out as a broken sob in his frustration. “Daddy, I—I want—I don’t—“

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Yuta says, sitting down beside him and pulling him into his lap. He’s sideways across Yuta’s thighs, legs stretched out on the sofa, one of Yuta’s arms propping his back up. He leans into Yuta’s shoulder, hiding his face there. He feels disgusting, and it’s embarrassing. “I’ve got you,” Yuta repeats, wrapping his other hand around Taeyong’s cock.

And, _oh_ , that’s what it was. Taeyong’s hard still, aching, and he moans into Yuta’s skin, hips bucking weakly into his fist. “Daddy,” he breathes, and Yuta bends down to kiss his sweaty hair.

“Right here, baby,” he whispers. “You’ve done so well, we’re almost done. Just wanna see you come for daddy one more time, can you do that?”

“Mm-hmm,” Taeyong agrees, though he’s honestly not quite sure. He thinks if he comes again, he might pass out, or pass _away_ , but he’ll try. Yuta’s lips are still against his temple, giving him a succession of soft, reassuring kisses as he jerks him off. 

Taeyong gasps, breaths hot and sharp. It feels like his arousal is sharpening to a point inside of him, and then it pierces through him, and he convulses in Yuta’s lap, whining and crying as he comes, cock twitching feebly. He opens one eye, peeking at the mess, and sees he’s only been able to produce a tiny amount of nearly-clear fluid. He closes his eyes again as his cock gives one final jolt, finally letting his exhaustion take over.

When he comes to, he’s propped up against Yuta’s shoulder, sitting on the edge of his tub as Yuta dries him off. He’s aching, but clean, and he hums softly. Despite their awkward positioning, he could swear he’s never been more comfortable.

“Hey, baby,” Yuta says softly. “You did so good. You okay?”

“Mmm.” Taeyong tries to form a coherent sentence, or at least a word or two, he really does, but his brain feels like cookie dough. 

Yuta seems to understand. He laughs, lifting Taeyong to his feet. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s get a little treatment on you, and then we can sleep for as long as you want.” He gets Taeyong to the bed, helping him pull a shirt over his head, and then grabs a little bottle of ointment and lays him back. Taeyong drifts in and out. Whatever Yuta’s using on him feels cool and soothing. He thought it would hurt more, but it doesn’t. Maybe he’s just too tired.

He jerks away when Yuta kisses him, right next to his rim. “Okay, all done,” he says softly. “You don’t look too bad, actually. How does it feel?”

“Feels fine,” Taeyong slurs, rolling onto his side and curling up under the blankets. Yuta joins him after turning out the lights. Taeyong registers vaguely that, as per their discussion earlier, Yuta is naked behind him. He giggles. “Which is good,” he adds. “Because I want you to wake me up with your cock tomorrow morning.”

“Baby,” Yuta chuckles. “You just passed out, and you’re still asking for more?”

“Can’t get enough of you,” Taeyong says honestly, bringing the hand Yuta’s slung around him to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles before taking the tip of his index finger into his mouth.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Yuta argues, gently tugging his hand free. 

“Please, daddy?” Taeyong begs. 

“I’ll see how you look in the morning,” Yuta concedes. “Is that good enough for you? Will you please sleep now? You need it.”

“Thank you,” Taeyong replies, smiling even as he drifts back under, Yuta’s steady breaths rocking him into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no, i can't be stopped :) you can find me on tumblr [here](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about). come drop me an ask n poke me with a stick and tell me to write faster lol! my buy me a coffee is also linked there ^^
> 
> I also added a link to the ~official~ playlist for this fic! you can find it in the desc, or right [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/498ks3vIMNiFoDsssMnPCd?si=MV59QDvYQ2WsEyWT3Ugyaw) :)


	4. body's sweet like sugar venom

When Taeyong wakes, the first thing he registers is heat. He almost feels too warm, and for a moment he wonders if Yuta’s A/C is broken or something. But then he tries to move, and realizes he’s trapped by Yuta’s cock.

A wave of desire washes over him. Yuta’s lips are on his neck, pressing soft, wet kisses into his skin, and he’s grinding into him, slow and lazy, hands holding his hips in place. Taeyong is overcome with gratitude—why is it that Yuta just keeps giving him whatever he asks for? He feels spoiled, and it makes him giddy.

“ _Fuck_ , daddy,” he moans breathily.

“G’morning, baby,” Yuta hums low in his throat. “How’d you sleep?”

“G-good,” Taeyong replies, pressing back against Yuta’s chest.

“Yeah?” Yuta asks. Something about his tone thrills Taeyong. “Seems like it. You were so relaxed. I think maybe you’re made to be fucked, hm? You opened right up for me, baby, it’s like your body just needs it.”

“Yeah,” Taeyong agrees, wondering how Yuta is only just coming to this conclusion. He doesn’t mind, though, likes that Yuta’s telling him what he did to him while he slept.

“You were so sweet,” Yuta continues, and Taeyong shivers. “Moaning so nice for me, even in your sleep, when I was prepping you.” Yuta spreads him a little wider, rolling him over a little so he’s half on his stomach, so he can press him into the bed. “Thought it would take longer, thought I might wake you up, but the whole time you just kept sleeping, even when I switched from my fingers to my cock.” Taeyong trembles; how long had he been asleep? How long had Yuta waited, cock pressed in him so deep, not fucking him, before he woke up? “Took me so easily, so nicely,” Yuta continues, tugging Taeyong’s arm out from under him and bending his knees so he’s fully on his chest. Taeyong’s cock is hard and aching in the empty space between the bed and his tummy, but he can’t reach it. “Were you built for me, honey?”

There’s definitely a part of Taeyong’s brain that isn’t wired quite right, because the thought that he’s just a little doll built to take cock—specifically _Yuta’s_ cock—makes his eyes roll back in his head. “Mm-hmm,” he breathes out. “Built for you, daddy.”

“Jesus, baby,” Yuta groans. “How are you so perfect?”

Taeyong just sighs happily. Maybe he _is_ a dumb slut, really; maybe it should worry him more, maybe he should consider it a problem, but right now he doesn’t care. He feels so _good_ , face-first in Yuta’s mattress, first thing in the morning. He thinks he wouldn’t mind getting woken up like this every day.

“Touch me,” he pleads, and Yuta does, wraps his hand around Taeyong’s drooling cock. 

“You’re so wet, baby,” Yuta purrs in his ear, and Taeyong whines. “You like it that much? You like being woken up by my cock?”

“ _Yes_ , oh please, daddy, ‘m gonna _come_.” Taeyong jerks his hips forward into Yuta’s fist weakly. He’s already so strung out, and the day hasn’t even begun. Yuta wraps his other arm around Taeyong’s waist—he realizes too late that his knees are giving out, refusing to hold him up any longer. He goes limp in Yuta’s hands, happy to let him rail him beyond coherence—anything to get both of them to come. 

Taeyong lets his head loll, jolting a little with each thrust. Yuta’s movements are a little sloppy, but Taeyong is glad for it, knows it means he’s close. He closes his eyes, trying to hold out for as long as possible. The instant he feels Yuta still inside of him, though, he can’t help it, convulsing as he comes on the sheets.

After a moment, he hears Yuta laughing breathlessly, and laughs a little, too. Yuta pulls out of him and he rolls to the side, on his back, not bothering to stop the flow of Yuta’s release. The sheets need changing anyway. He reaches down to swipe at it a little, bringing his fingers up in front of his face to inspect the damage in the light. 

“So, good morning,” Yuta says. He’s standing, already pulling the pillowcases off on the other side of the bed.

“Mm,” Taeyong giggles. “Morning.” He turns his head so he can watch him as he methodically strips the bed. “You’re so good to me.”

Yuta rolls his eyes. “I’m glad you feel that way,” he says. “I think I’m barely keeping up with you.”

“It’s only fair,” Taeyong says, moving to stand so they can get the sheets off completely. “I mean, you are a lot older than me,” he adds unnecessarily. “It would make sense.”

Yuta just huffs his amusement and shoos Taeyong into the bathroom for a quick shower.

Once they’re clean and dressed (Taeyong in a pair of skinny jeans and a slightly cropped tee that has Yuta raising his eyebrows at him), they have a quick brunch and then settle down to do some work. As much as Taeyong doesn’t want to be away from Yuta’s side, he knows if he’s in the same room as him, he’s going to end up climbing him again within an hour, so he leaves Yuta in his study, and goes to sit in the living room. He makes his way through a piece, gnawing thoughtfully at his nails as he works.

Around 2, Taeyong gets a message from his landlord saying the power is finally back on. It’s good news, really—it’s Sunday, and he certainly can’t stay at Yuta’s during the workweek. With that squared away, he can really focus on his work, and soon he has a good rhythm going. He hardly notices the sun’s steady movement across the sky. He doesn’t even notice when Yuta comes down the stairs until he’s right behind him, chin resting on his shoulder, arms wrapped around him.

“Hi!” Taeyong squeaks in surprise.

Yuta’s laughter rumbles in his ear. “Hi, sorry,” he says. “You’re so focused. Do you think you’ll be at a good stopping place soon?”

“Yeah, I’m almost done,” Taeyong says. “Gimme like, 10 minutes. Why?”

“Sounds good. I’m done with my work, and it’s past five, so—I wanna drink. Do you wanna drink?”

“Um, yes,” Taeyong says. “Go make us something and I’ll join you as fast as I can.”

“It means you’ll stay the night here, though,” Yuta reminds him. “I’ll drive you back to yours tomorrow morning so you can pick up a few things before work.”

“That’s fine,” Taeyong agrees.

“Okay,” Yuta says. “What do you want to drink, then?”

“Um, I don’t know,” Taeyong says, chewing on his lip. “Whatever you have?”

“How about some plum wine? Or—ooh, sake bombs?” Yuta releases him, padding around the couch to head to the kitchen.

“Either,” Taeyong agrees. “Both. Why not?”

“Why not, indeed.” Yuta disappears around the corner, and Taeyong refocuses on his laptop. 

He waltzes into the kitchen a few short moments later to see a few bottles lined up on the counter. Yuta smiles and slides a glass of chilled plum wine over to him. “Got it all done?” he asks as he raises his glass to clink against Taeyong’s.

“Yep,” Taeyong says happily, draining it. Yuta pours him another, and empties the bottle into his own glass. “Shouldn’t we have eaten something before we started drinking?”

“I’m a bad influence, I guess,” Yuta says. “We can heat something up so we don’t suffer in the morning. Wanna see what we have in the fridge?”

_What we have. We._ But Taeyong doesn’t say anything about it, just nods, picking up his glass and taking a contemplative sip as he roots around through the leftovers. He finds some udon soup and eel over rice, so he pulls them out and dishes them into bowls for microwaving. He hears the crack of a can being opened, and turns to see Yuta filing two new glasses with beer.

“This okay?” Taeyong asks, even though he’s already tossed the takeout containers.

“Oh, yeah,” Yuta agrees as he measures out sake shots and balances the shot glasses carefully on pairs of chopsticks.

“Either you were trained in bartending, or you were in some shit in college,” Taeyong observes as the microwave hums loudly in the background.

“No comment,” Yuta replies. “Wanna finish your last mouthful there so you can have this?”

“Are you peer pressuring me?” Taeyong asks, but he tilts his head back, swallowing the last of the sweet wine, and crosses to stand beside Yuta.

“No, I’m not your peer,” Yuta reminds him with a grin, brushing Taeyong’s hair back from his forehead, thumb ghosting over Taeyong’s cheekbone as he brings his hand down, not quite cupping his jaw. Taeyong wishes he would. “I’m instructing you.”

Taeyong doesn’t know how to respond to that one, just shivers and takes a light hold of the chopsticks on his glass. “So do I just pull?”

“No, tilt them inwards to ease the shot into the glass,” Yuta says. “Ready, go!”

Their sake shots fall in with a splash and Taeyong yelps a little as his drink fizzes. Yuta laughs at him, the rim of his cup already between his lips. 

“I thought it might break,” Taeyong admits, and Yuta just shakes his head, leaning in to give him a kiss on the temple.

They eat the leftovers and have a few more drinks. Taeyong’s feeling a little fuzzy, but happily so. He’s sat in Yuta’s lap, playing with his rings as Yuta finishes a beer. Taeyong purses his lips, eyes moving to the pretty patterned shirt Yuta is wearing.

“What?” Yuta asks, catching him looking.

“I like your fashion,” Taeyong says. “Can I try on some of your clothes?”

Yuta laughs. “Is this just an excuse for you to get naked? You have an agenda?”

“No! Well, maybe, I don’t know.” Taeyong smiles, lips pressed together. “I just want to poke through your closet, I think.”

“Sure,” Yuta agrees. He puts the empty beer can on the table and coaxes Taeyong off his lap. “Let’s go upstairs, then.”

Yuta leans against the doorframe of his closet, letting Taeyong sort through the hangers and drawers, fingers running over all the fabrics, catching on buttons as he goes. He pulls out a few button-downs, shrugging them on and striking little poses in the mirror. Yuta is laughing. 

“Don’t laugh,” Taeyong complains, though he doesn’t really mind.

“I’m not laughing at you, baby,” Yuta assures him. “You’re just cute.”

Taeyong hums, pushing aside some jackets, and finds behind them a few long skirts, some with a large opening down the side. He carefully unhooks the hangers and holds them up. “These are fun,” he says.

Yuta smiles, nodding. “I had a brief stint as a model, and I may or may not have stolen a couple pieces.”

“Can I try them on?” Taeyong runs his hands over them. He likes them all, but one in particular catches his eye—it’s thin, grey fabric with a white grid pattern, pleated, with a huge slit on the side. The only thing connecting one side to the other is a belt built into the waistband. 

“Sure,” Yuta agrees. “That one’s meant to be worn over pants, but… well, it’s up to you. I certainly wouldn’t mind if you didn’t.”

Taeyong grins, putting the other skirts back and then retreating into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He tugs off his jeans and contemplates his underwear before taking those off, too. They both know where this evening is going. The cropped t-shirt he was already wearing actually works perfectly, just barely teasing an inch or two of skin. He turns in the mirror, giggling to himself when the fabric flutters before settling demurely around his shins. There’s no real good place to put the slit, even with Taeyong’s tiny waist. The skirt barely manages to cover anything, he sees as he sways, a little unsteady from all the alcohol. He can’t wait for Yuta to fuck him in it.

He pokes his head out of the bathroom, and Yuta smiles up at him. “Lemme see,” he encourages, and Taeyong steps out of the door. Yuta takes his time surveying him, coming up in front of him and doing a slow circle. “Baby, you look so pretty. It’s a shame it’s so long, though.”

“Honestly,” Taeyong says. “I’ve always liked skirts and things like that. But I only have the one that I stole from my sister.” 

Yuta raises his eyebrows. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing that. We can also order some for you, if you want.”

Taeyong blinks. “Oh, no, you don’t have to do that. I can find some on my own time.”

Yuta takes one of his hands, humming contemplatively. “Well, we’ll talk about it, but either way, it’s good to know you like that sort of thing.”

“Mm-hm,” Taeyong says, half-checked out of the conversation already, eyes on Yuta’s lips.

“What about with, like, little stockings, would you want that too?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong agrees, thinking about the little stash of fun clothing items he has back at his place. “Yeah, I like that.”

“You’d look so cute,” Yuta says, finally, _finally_ leaning in to kiss him. Taeyong gasps into his mouth when he grabs his waist, under the little t-shirt, cold fingertips on Taeyong’s burning skin. “What about lingerie? Would you want a garter to wear with the thigh highs?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong repeats breathlessly. _I have one_. He has a whole set. He’ll pack it next weekend. “C’mon, daddy,” he says, alcohol making him bold. “Are you gonna fuck me or what?”

“How bad d’you want it?” Yuta teases, his hand moving lower, to his hip, pushing the skirt aside. “Oh,” he says when he meets more skin. “No underwear? I guess you _do_ want it.” He backs Taeyong up against the wall, kissing him while he does it so he can’t resist. Taeyong doesn’t mind, just holds Yuta’s head in his hands, curling his fingers into his hair. He’s dizzy and he can’t tell if it’s because he’s drunk or horny or both, but he loves the feeling. The fabric of the skirt swishes softly against his legs, sending goosebumps prickling across his skin. Yuta’s teeth snag on his lower lip and he whines softly.

“Can I—“ he rasps out when Yuta finally breaks away. “Can I have your mouth o-on my cock, daddy? Please?”

“You can have anything you want when you ask like that,” Yuta replies. He lowers himself carefully to his knees, pushing aside the skirt and gripping it in a bruising hold with Taeyong’s left thigh, squeezing the soft flesh to keep him against the wall, as if Taeyong isn’t powerless against him on his own. 

He nudges Taeyong’s legs open wider until he’s almost underneath him, pressing openmouthed kisses to his inner thighs.

“Please,” Taeyong says again.

Yuta looks up at him and Taeyong’s breath catches in his throat. The dim light flashes off his cheekbones and eyelashes. _Maybe he’s an angel_ , Taeyong thinks, blurry. _Like the biblical kind. Terrifying; blinding; beautiful._ “I don’t have a gag reflex like yours, baby,” Yuta warns. “So I’ll tap your thigh like this—” he lays his fingers flat against Taeyong’s leg and taps firmly, twice “—to let you know I need to pull off. So you can go ahead and pull my hair, do whatever you want. Okay?”

“Okay,” Taeyong breathes out. 

Yuta scoots a little closer, settling between his legs, and then stretches up, taking Taeyong’s cock into his mouth, tongue pressed flat as he takes him deeper. Taeyong chokes out a soft moan, hands immediately flying to Yuta’s hair. Yuta lets him tug, even though it must hurt, the way Taeyong’s tightened his fists so close to his scalp, just hollows his cheeks and then pulls off with a wet pop. He takes half a second to breathe, and takes him back in again, swirling his tongue lazily around the head.

Taeyong’s legs are shaking; he arches back, smacking his head against the wall hard enough that the noise of it rings in his skull. He can barely feel it, though; it’s like he’s numb everywhere except for where Yuta touches him. He’s grateful for Yuta’s hands on his hips, keeping him propped against the wall. Taeyong knows he can’t trust his balance, especially not when Yuta’s head is between his thighs.

The wet heat of Yuta’s mouth is almost blinding, and Taeyong is once again reminded of one of the many advantages to sleeping with someone Yuta’s age. Taeyong thrusts forward a little on accident, and he realizes he’s been panting and moaning this whole time as he suddenly becomes conscious of his own breath, heaving in his chest.

“Daddy,” he whines. “Gonna make me come.” Yuta just hums, bobbing his head, face peaceful. “O-oh, _fuck_.” The vibrations from Yuta’s voice on Taeyong’s cock nearly overwhelm him, and he curls forward a little, gasping, releasing Yuta’s head in favor of pressing his hands over his open mouth. He trembles with the force of his orgasm—it always hits harder when he comes fast like this, with barely any time to bask in the growing, heady pleasure, before he’s shoved over the edge. He whimpers as Yuta sits back on his heels, pulling off with a wet pop and bringing a hand up to replace his mouth so he can stroke Taeyong through the aftershocks.

Once Yuta is satisfied, he stands, using his spit- and come-soaked fingers to force Taeyong’s mouth open. He spits the remainder of Taeyong’s release onto Taeyong’s tongue, and Taeyong whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut. Yuta releases his mouth and taps his Adam’s apple. “Swallow it,” he says.

Taeyong does, not quite sure why this it’s _so_ hot to him, but not minding, blinking his eyes open so he can see Yuta’s reaction when he opens his empty mouth, just to show that he listened.

“Good boy,” Yuta murmurs, cradling Taeyong’s jaw in one of his palms. Taeyong leans into his touch, mouth still open, and he makes a thick surprised noise when Yuta shoves two fingers from his other hand against the back of his tongue, moaning quietly once the initial shock wears off. “Little slut,” Yuta coos. “You like it when daddy spits in your mouth? Spits your _own_ come in your mouth?”

“Mm-hm,” Taeyong says, as best he can around his fingers. Yuta withdraws them, and he gasps out, “ _yes_ ,” voice rough. 

“Nasty,” Yuta reaffirms, smiling. He leans in and gives Taeyong a long, sweet kiss. Taeyong wraps his arms around Yuta’s shoulders, stumbling a little as Yuta guides him away from the wall. He lets Yuta move him, and after a moment, he’s being spun, and he lands on his back on the bed. He giggles a little, drunk and happy and warm in Yuta’s soft sheets. 

Yuta is already at his dresser, fetching lube. “Comfy?” he asks. Taeyong hums, watching Yuta saunter back over to him, lube tucked under his arm as he undoes the button of his jeans. He kicks them off, handing the lube to Taeyong, and gets rid of his shirt as well. _God, he’s handsome,_ Taeyong thinks to himself, raking his eyes up and down his pretty skin, his toned waist, the piercing at his naval, the bulge in his underwear. Yuta laughs. “Still like what you see?” Taeyong nods, blinking up at him. “Mm, I like what I see, too,” he says, tugging his underwear down and crawling onto the mattress next to Taeyong. “Love seeing you in my bed.”

Taeyong also can’t quite grasp why _this_ turns him on so bad, but it does, which is all that matters, really. He shudders, scooting up towards the pillows. “How do you want me?” he asks.

“Hands and knees,” Yuta says mildly. “Don’t spread too much, though.”

Confused, but not really in a mental state to ask, Taeyong does as he’s told. Yuta moves close behind him, sweeping the skirt aside so it’s draped over his left hip and out of the way. He hears the crack of the lube bottle being opened, and he fights the instinct to slip his legs wider. 

He feels Yuta’s hands on the insides of his upper thighs, slick with lube, and it clicks. He can’t stop a whine of protest from floating up from his lungs. Yuta’s not going to fuck him.

“Hush,” Yuta says sharply. “This morning was already pushing it. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“But—” Taeyong protests.

“No,” Yuta interrupts. “You said you wanted to be a good little fuckdoll for me, right? This is what I want. It’s what you need. Do you really not want it, or are you just being a brat?”

“Want it,” Taeyong mutters, sullen but resigned. 

“Okay.” Yuta withdraws his hand, and a couple seconds later Taeyong feels the head of his cock bump against the back of his thighs. Yuta spreads him with his fingers, just enough to slip his cock in, and then taps on the outside of Taeyong’s thighs. “Keep it tight for me, okay, baby?”

“Mmkay,” Taeyong agrees, shifting down to his elbows so he can rest his head against his knuckles and focus on squeezing his thighs together.

Yuta drags his cock back and then pushes forward again, and every movement offers friction to Taeyong’s cock or his balls, and he bites back a moan of surprise. As put out as he is that Yuta won’t be fucking him for real, he knows that he’s probably right. In any case, he’d probably thank him tomorrow when he had to go to work. But beyond that, he has to admit he kind of really likes this, the way Yuta is using his body, the way he hardly gets anything from it—just enough to have his cock twitching again. He’s jostled forward into the pillows with each thrust, and he feels so _dirty_ and exposed, but he _loves_ it.

“That’s it, baby,” Yuta grits out from behind him. “You’re so soft, feel so good.”

Taeyong can only moan in response. _Guess I can add this to my laundry list of kinks_ , he thinks to himself somewhat deliriously. He inhales sharply, thinking about Yuta using him like this when his body can’t take anything else, too wrecked for anything else; cradled to Yuta’s chest, chin hooked over his shoulder as Yuta ruts against him, cock skimming past Taeyong’s till he’s close, then pushing Taeyong down to his knees so he can finish on his face and in his mouth.

_Yeah_ , he thinks as his breath catches in his chest from a particularly hard thrust. _I’m a little fucked up._ He feels Yuta’s hand around his cock, already half-hard again, and groans into the pillow. _But it’s okay._

“Daddy,” he huffs breathlessly. “Oh my _god_ , please.”

“Please what?” Yuta replies, but Taeyong can hear the strain in his voice. “Gonna come again? Just from daddy using your thighs like you’re a toy?” He tightens his grip on Taeyong’s cock, and Taeyong wails, high and reedy, only partially from the pain. “‘Cause that’s what you like, right? You like when I treat you like you don’t matter, like you’re just a dumb little boy.”

Tears force their way out of Taeyong’s eyes and down his cheeks. “Yes, yes,” he says. “Please, daddy, use my body to come, I want it.”

“So good for me,” Yuta says, and Taeyong just sobs, bucking his hips forward into Yuta’s fist as best he can while still keeping his legs pressed snug around Yuta’s cock. He teeters on the edge, not quite able to let go, but then he feels the warm splatter of Yuta’s come on his thighs, and he’s coming, too, jerking in Yuta’s grasp.

They’re sticky and gross, and so are the sheets (Taeyong cringes a little to himself, thinking of how they only just changed them that morning) but Yuta lowers himself down at Taeyong’s side and pulls him in, kissing the top of his head as they catch their breath.

“You okay?” he murmurs softly, running his fingers up and down Taeyong’s arms.

“Yeah,” Taeyong breathes.

“You know, what I said just now about treating you like you don’t matter—you _do_ matter. To me. You know that?”

“Mm,” Taeyong agrees. “I know. You take such good care of me.” He suppresses a bubble of laughter. “I know I’m safe with you.”

“Okay, good,” Yuta says. Another kiss, this one on Taeyong’s forehead; another, on his temple. “Because you are.”

Taeyong tips his head back so he can look at Yuta. “You’re sweet,” he giggles. “But, um, can we shower now? We both have to work in the morning.”

Yuta groans unhappily, but he nods. “Let’s go, then.”

They shower; Yuta moves quickly so he can go change the sheets, leaving Taeyong to rinse off alone. Taeyong blows at some stray suds as he washes out his hair. His body aches, but it’s not as bad as yesterday. He’ll go into work with a faint, comfortable reminder of this weekend. He’s _very_ glad for it. He only hopes it won’t end here.

Yuta isn’t giving him any reason to think it will, though. There’s always talk of _next time_ , of things they’ll have to do, to try. It thrills Taeyong, even in his tired state, as he clumsily dries himself off, stepping out of the bathroom to find Yuta fluffing the pillows. 

Taeyong goes to grab a t-shirt, and then comes back to the bed, plopping down and pulling the covers over his shoulders while Yuta turns off the lights. Yuta slips in beside him, and they settle into place, legs slotted right next to each other. Yuta wraps an arm over Taeyong’s waist and takes one of his hands in his, tracing soothing circles into his palm with his thumb. 

“I’ll give you my number in the morning,” he says softly, pausing every few words to kiss random spots on Taeyong’s upper back. “In case you want to see me again.”

“Stupid,” Taeyong mutters fondly. “Of course I do.”

~ * ~

They wake up at an ungodly hour the next morning, rising with the sun. They drink their coffee and eat breakfast in gentle silence, and then Taeyong gets packed up to go back to his place. They chat on the drive back and as they draw near Taeyong's street, Yuta tells him to get his phone out, and dictates his number to him to program in.

“You need anything—you just tell me, okay?” Yuta says as he pulls up to the curb.

“Okay,” Taeyong agrees. “Um—the week will be a little busy, I think, but—how’s next weekend?” He spares a glance at Yuta out of the corner of his eye, and is delighted to find him smiling.

“Next weekend is perfect,” he agrees. “You get off at five on Friday?”

Taeyong nods.

“Okay, I’ll come get you from here around 6:30, then.”

“Just in time for dinner.” Taeyong opens the door and steps out. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Hurry and go,” Yuta says, rolling his eyes. “Or you’ll be late.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Taeyong grabs his bag from the back and pauses by the open window on the passenger side. “See you soon, daddy,” he says softly, just above a whisper.

Taeyong can hear Yuta’s incredulous laughter floating after him as he skips away towards his building. He grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading! come hang w me on my [tumblr](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about)!


	5. you're falling hard, i push away, i'm feelin' hot to the touch

Going back to work is a jarring experience. Taeyong is giddy, still, coming off the weekend, and it’s a little hard to keep it all under wraps and focus on his job. 

On Wednesday, Jaehyun invites him out to lunch.

“I’m really sorry about the confusion this weekend,” Taeyong says. “Let me pay for lunch, since you went through all that trouble.”

“No, you don’t have to!” Jaehyun says, but Taeyong dedicates himself to making sure he does, anyway. “It was kind of my fault, I should’ve asked first before just showing up at your place.”

“Honestly, I’ll probably be at that family friend’s house most weekends,” Taeyong says. “Um, my mom likes that he can keep an eye on me, and he’s a good cook, so…”

Jaehyun nods. “Well, I’ll keep it in mind,” he says, laughing. “No more surprise visits. Who is he, by the way?”

Taeyong freezes. He hopes Jaehyun never asks to be introduced, because he’ll definitely recognize him from that night at the club. “He—he went to college with my uncle, and they were pretty good friends, so he’s just gotten to know the rest of my family.”

“I see. Well, if you ever get bored of an old man’s company but don’t want to be alone, you’re always welcome to come to mine,” Jaehyun offers.

Taeyong snatches the bill up as it’s placed on the table and slides his card in before Jaehyun can react. “He’s not that old,” he defends before he can stop himself, not really sure how to feel. “But thanks.”

Yuta’s had a busy week, so he hasn’t been able to respond to many of Taeyong’s texts. When he does, it’s with reassurances that he isn’t ignoring Taeyong on purpose, and that he’s looking forward to this weekend, so Taeyong’s not too worried for himself. He’s a little worried for Yuta, maybe (it’s bad for your heart to be stressed, right?), but he knows exactly what he’s going to do about that.

Jaehyun is another issue. Taeyong feels so bad, because if he’d never met Yuta, he’d probably be hooking up with Jaehyun instead. He’s perfect, really, with his shy smile and dimples, his strong, broad shoulders and dreamy, old-Hollywood-type good looks. And he’s the sweetest, bringing Taeyong a coffee whenever he goes to get one for himself, inviting him out with the other interns, and checking up on him throughout the day. He thinks Jaehyun just thinks he’s shy, and thinks he needs to keep track of him or protect him or something. That would also explain to him why Taeyong hasn’t really responded to any of his advances. 

_If only he knew_ , Taeyong thinks to himself, stifling a laugh as he checks the message Yuta just sent him.

**> >Can’t wait to see you tonight, baby. What do you want for dinner?**

**Can we order sushi?** Taeyong asks. 

**> >Sure, and I can make some takoyaki if you want.**

**Sounds good!** Taeyong types back, pocketing his phone quickly when he hears someone approaching. 

Luckily, it’s just Jaehyun. “Phone out on the clock? You’re fired,” he says, grinning down at Taeyong. 

“Won’t be on the clock for much longer,” Taeyong says, sticking his tongue out.

“What are you up to once you’re not?” Jaehyun asks.

“I have dinner plans with that family friend,” Taeyong says, pouting a little to say sorry. “He wants me to meet some of my uncle’s old college friends. No getting out of it, unfortunately. I’ll be drowning in aunties and uncles I either don’t know or don’t remember all night.”

Jaehyun makes a pained noise in sympathy. “That’s too bad,” he says. “I was gonna invite you out to drinks.”

“Yeah, I can’t this weekend, I don’t think,” Taeyong replies, cringing internally. “Family obligations. Tell the guys I say hi, and I’m sorry, would you?”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to meet up with them tonight,” Jaehyun says, offhand. “I meant like, just us. That’s okay, though.”

“Oh.” Taeyong blinks at him. “I’m sorry. Maybe some other time? I’m just booked for the next couple of days.”

“Sure.” Jaehyun gives him an easy smile. “Good luck with the aunties and uncles.”

“Thanks,” Taeyong says with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll need it.”

As soon as five o’clock hits, Taeyong is out the door and on his way home. It’s not a big deal, really, he just wants to make sure he has enough time to pack and then anxiously repack his bag for the weekend. It’s not like they can’t come back to his if he forgets something, but he’d really rather not go through the bother.

He showers carefully, and spends some time arranging his drying hair in the mirror. He pulls on a random short-sleeved button down and a pair of sweet, mid-thigh length denim shorts. He tucks the button-down in and secures the shorts with a white belt, and then starts packing. He begins with the essentials—underwear, t-shirts, sweatpants—and then pulls out his surprise. 

A couple years back, he stole one of his sister’s skirts. He’s got a small waist, so it fits him just fine, even now—a pastel pink tennis skirt. He lays it out on his bed. It’s been a while since he’s worn it, so it needs ironing. Luckily, he’s a little neurotic, and he owns a cheap travel size iron, so he pours some water in and sets it to heat up as he goes through the rest of his things. Next are a pair of sheer white thigh highs—a cute match for the skirt—and then a lingerie set. It’s pure white, skimpy with delicate floral lace and thin elastics, accented with sweet little bows. It comes with a matching garter. Taeyong sets the bralette aside—he doesn’t really want to deal with it tonight—and carefully folds the underwear and garter, placing them in his bag next to the thigh highs. He also pulls out a soft, fuzzy white sweater to wear on top, and rolls it around the lingerie.

The iron is beeping, so he stands and goes to iron the skirt. He hums quietly as he runs the iron over the stiff material. It takes a while, and by the time he’s satisfied, iron unplugged and skirt shaken out and hung to dry, it’s already six. Taeyong sighs, rooting through his vanity to find some makeup. He picks out a few things and puts them in a little pouch, and tosses that in his bag as well. He grabs one finishing touch to his outfit from his dresser, tucking it in next to the sweater. Next goes the skirt, and then his laptop, and then all that’s left to do is pace.

He doesn’t have to wait long. His phone buzzes in his hand right at 6:30, and he springs up, grabbing his things, locking the door behind him and hurrying down the stairs.

Yuta looks amazing, if a little frazzled. He’s wearing a formal white button down, just like last week, with the top two buttons undone. His sleeves are rolled up just above his elbows, and he has a random assortment of pretty silver jewelry on. His hair is haphazardly parted down the middle, and his bangs brush his temples. He gives Taeyong a warm smile as he shuts the passenger side door.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft. “You look cute.”

_I’m about to look cuter,_ Taeyong thinks. “Thanks,” he chooses to say instead. “You look good. But also a little tired.”

Yuta huffs out a laugh as he puts the car into drive and pulls away. “Well, that would be because I am.” He flashes Taeyong a look out of the corner of his eye. “Not too tired for you, of course. Just had a busy week.”

“I hope not,” Taeyong says. “I missed you.”

Yuta smiles his strange, wide smile, and Taeyong feels his stomach drop at the speed of light. “I missed you, too,” he says, reaching a hand over to take one of Taeyong’s. They turn onto the mountain road, and Yuta brings their hands up to his lips, pressing a kiss to Taeyong’s knuckles. 

Taeyong holds Yuta’s hand for the rest of the car ride, warmed by the contact. They chat about their weeks—Yuta has been preparing for a big presentation—and Taeyong considers bringing Jaehyun up. But he doesn’t want to make Yuta feel guilty when there’s nothing to be guilty over. It’s just awkward and unfortunate. Taeyong doubts Yuta can really give any helpful advice about it—really, who could?—and since he can’t do anything, either, he might as well just keep quiet.

Once they’re parked in the garage, Yuta grabs Taeyong’s bag from the back and follows him into the house. He drops the bag by the stairs and Taeyong wraps his arms around Yuta’s neck and pulls him in for a long kiss. Yuta groans softly, hands automatically going to his waist. It feels good, and right, and any worries about Jaehyun are buried deep in the back of Taeyong’s mind. He wants to kiss Yuta forever, maybe, but then his stomach gives a loud, untimely grumble, and Yuta breaks away, laughing.

“Dinner first, and then we can do whatever we want.” He pads into the kitchen, swiping his hair out of his face and fetching a bowl from the fridge. Taeyong follows. “Sushi is in here. I got a few other things, too.” He nods to the oven. “Coasting in there. Could you set the table while I make the takoyaki?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong agrees. He smiles softly to himself as he pulls out plates and chopsticks—it’s so easy, even if they haven’t seen each other in almost a week. Taeyong plates the sushi that was in the fridge, and takes the other stuff out of the oven—unaju and tempura, it seems—and then sticks his head back in the fridge to see if he missed anything. “Yuta,” he asks, “can we open a bottle of sake?”

“I like the way you think,” Yuta replies, flashing him a smile before going back to the takoyaki. “Take your pick.”

Taeyong selects the cute pink bottle with the pretty packaging (predictable, he knows, but what was he supposed to do?) and grabs a couple of shot glasses down and brings them to the table. Yuta is dishing the cooked takoyaki out into a curved plate and topping it, and Taeyong pauses to give him a quick kiss on the shoulder. Yuta laughs happily, following after him.

Taeyong passes him a glass of sake and Yuta hums gratefully. “You ordered a lot,” Taeyong says, giggling.

“I know,” Yuta says with a shrug. “We can just eat the rest tomorrow.” He glances up at Taeyong. “I have a couple of things to finish up after dinner, so you can entertain yourself for like, thirty minutes, and then I’ll be free.”

“Okay,” Taeyong says, popping a piece of yellowtail sashimi in his mouth. _Gives me time to get changed_ , he thinks, hiding a grin. 

Taeyong doesn’t want to eat too much, and Yuta seems too preoccupied to have much of an appetite, so dinner is quick, and soon they’re packing up the leftovers and bringing the dishes to the sink. Yuta starts to do them, but Taeyong nudges him away. “Let me do it,” he says softly. “You’re busy enough as it is.”

Yuta acquiesces, giving him a grateful look. “You’re so good,” he says, planting a swift kiss on his temple. “Okay, I’m gonna go finish my work. I’ll be done soon, I promise.”

Taeyong just hums, already focused on the dishes. He lines everything up carefully in the dishwasher, and then turns off the lights and heads towards the stairs, snatching his bag up and ducking into the bathroom. He rinses off quickly, just because he can, and then pulls out his clothes. First go the panties and the garter, then the sweater, then the skirt, and finally the thigh highs. He rolls them up delicately, careful not to puncture them, and then twirls in the mirror.

The skirt hugs his tiny waist, the sweater spilling over the top, loose and soft. He flips the edge of the skirt up to check the lingerie. The panties aren’t built to hold much, so his cock sits uncovered in the gap between the waistband and the cotton of the gusset, which is connected to the waistband only by a couple of strips of lace. He can’t wait to see Yuta’s face.

He’s not done, though. He finds his makeup and swipes some blush and highlight over his cheeks, then applies some mascara, and finally some shimmery pink lip gloss. And then, the finishing touch—a pastel pink faux-leather collar with a heart-shaped padlock. The padlock itself doesn’t really do anything unless you lock something onto it, like a leash, but it’s more about the gesture of it; that when Yuta locks it onto the rings of the collar, that means Taeyong is all his. 

The key is attached to a matching pink leather string, long enough to fit as a necklace. Taeyong unlocks the padlock, taking it off the collar and placing it beside the key on the counter. He turns in the mirror and carefully fastens the collar around his neck. It’s not super tight, but it’s nice and snug where it rests below his Adam’s apple. One last once-over, just to double check, and Taeyong’s scooping his things up and waltzing out into the hall. He drops his bag in Yuta’s room, and then makes his way down to Yuta’s office.

Yuta looks up when he hears Taeyong’s footfalls as he crosses the threshold. “Hey, b—oh.” He stops short when he notices what Taeyong’s wearing. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hi,” Taeyong says coyly, drawing nearer.

“This is a nice surprise,” Yuta says casually, turning a little to face him, raking his gaze up and down Taeyong’s body.

“D’you like it?” Taeyong asks, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I like it a lot,” Yuta says breathily. “You’re so pretty, baby.”

“Here.” Taeyong holds out the padlock and the key. “I know you’ve had a busy week, so… I thought I’d help you destress. I’m yours for the weekend. Anytime this is on, anything you want.”

“I hope you’re serious, because if you’re offering—” Yuta warns, taking the items from Taeyong and then cutting himself off with a groan when Taeyong sinks to his knees at his feet.

“I’m offering,” Taeyong says, giving him a sweet smile and tipping his head back so he can click the padlock into place. Yuta holds the key up, ducking his head through the string it hangs from, and it settles against his chest. “Can I wait here until you’re done?”

“Mm, yes,” Yuta agrees, swiveling his chair back around so he’s facing his computer. “I’m almost done.”

Taeyong readjusts his position, smoothing the pleats of his skirt and then folding his hands in his lap as he waits. Yuta runs a hand through his hair, sometimes reaching around to cup his jaw and stroke his cheek. 

True to his word, not five minutes later Yuta is pushing away from the desk and gently pulling Taeyong to his feet. “Look at you,” he murmurs, crowding Taeyong, one hand braced against the small of his back. “Did you get dolled up all pretty for me, baby?”

“Mm-hmm.” Taeyong lets Yuta back him out of the office and into the hall, towards his bedroom. “Wore my best things.”

Yuta pushes him back onto the bed and Taeyong’s skirt flutters up, just enough that Yuta catches a glimpse of the clasps of his garter. “Yeah?” Yuta says, hands going to Taeyong’s thighs. “Was that wise? What if we ruin them?”

“That’s okay,” Taeyong says with a smile. “I know you’ll buy me replacements.”

Yuta rucks Taeyong’s skirt up around his waist and gasps. “Jesus, baby. You know, I considered fucking you right there in my office the moment I saw you. If I’d known this is what you were hiding under this cute little skirt, I would’ve.” Taeyong moans openmouthed as Yuta ducks his head down and presses hot kisses to his inner thighs. “I bet you would’ve liked that, hmm?” Yuta doesn’t wait for an answer. “Were you kind of hoping I would? Take you up against the wall like the whore you are?”

“Yes, fuck yes,” Taeyong says. Yuta’s mouth is so, so close to where his cock is hard and leaking. “Please.”

Yuta smiles wickedly and stands up. “As much as I appreciate this little surprise,” he says, “I think my little boy needs to remember his manners. You picked all this out not just to make me happy, right? You also wanted to tease me; you strutted into my office with a cocky little grin because you did everything you did today knowing it would get a rise out of me. ‘Cause you’re a dirty little slut, isn’t that right? Well, congratulations, your little scheme worked.” He grabs Taeyong’s jaw firmly, shaking him a little just for the fun of it. “How about it, baby? Do you want my hand, or my belt?”

Taeyong moans again. “Belt,” he says, decisive.

Yuta smiles and releases him. “Should’ve known,” he says. “I won’t use the buckle; I think we need to work up to that. If it’s too much, you have to tell me, though, okay?”

“I—I like to say, like, ‘no, I can’t’ when I don’t mean it, just ‘cuz it hurts,” Taeyong tells him, propping himself up on his elbows. “So if I actually don’t want it, I’ll say _red_ , like—like stop. Okay?”

“Okay.” Yuta keeps his heavy gaze on him as he undoes his belt buckle and pulls it off in one fluid motion, the black leather whipping against the fabric of Yuta’s pants. “Hands and knees, honey.” He folds the belt back in half, fastening the buckle back on the loosest hole and then gripping that end in his right hand.

Taeyong does as he’s told, flipping over and tucking his chin into his chest. He can feel the movement of the padlock swinging from where it hangs. “How many?” he asks, making his voice small as his heart thuds in his chest.

“Until I think you’ve learned your lesson,” Yuta says impassively, flipping the back of Taeyong’s skirt up and tucking the hem into the waistband so it’ll stay out of the way. “Brace.”

It’s all the warning he gets; Yuta strikes him once, twice, and the pain is bright and harsh. Taeyong gasps, twisting the sheets in his fists to keep himself from lurching forward. A couple more hits have him moaning, arms trembling with the effort of keeping him somewhat upright. Only part of it is from the pain, though; he’s also reeling from how _fucking_ turned on he is by how easily Yuta adjusted his demeanor. _What else does he like that he’s keeping from me?_ Taeyong wonders. He hiccups out something between a sob and moan at the next hit, caught off guard.

“Daddy,” he murmurs, breathy and high. His eyes aren’t quite focusing, the pain winding around and around him like a burning shawl, as soothing as it is distressing. He feels so hot in his sweater now; he can feel sweat beading along his hairline. One of his elbows buckles with the next strike, and he drops his forehead to his arm, panting out soft hurt noises.

“I don’t know if you’re good, or just that much of a painslut,” Yuta comments from behind him. “Probably a little bit of both, right?”

“Y-yes,” Taeyong stutters out, whimpering when Yuta presses his palm against the throbbing stripes he’s whipped into his ass.

“I think that’s enough, though,” Yuta says; Taeyong hears the clink of the belt buckle as it hits the floor and then the telltale whispering of fabric. “We can push it another time. I wanna fuck you now, is that okay? You’re just so pretty in your lingerie, babydoll, you’re irresistible.”

“Please,” Taeyong says. “Fuck me, please.”

“My perfect boy.” Yuta climbs onto the bed behind him; the mattress dips with his movement. “Will you flip over for me, baby? You worked so hard on your makeup, I wanna see it.”

Taeyong whines softly— _he noticed, he noticed_ —and gingerly rolls over, wincing a little as he gets settled on his back. Yuta hasn’t even touched his cock yet, and his arms and legs already feel weak, coil of arousal already wrapped tight in his stomach. He wriggles out of his sweater, discarding it on the other side of the bed and nestling his head into the pillows. Taeyong blinks his eyes open and _oh._ Yuta is hovering above him, nudging his legs apart, looking down on him with an expression that is equal parts fondness and hunger. Yuta brings a hand up to cup his jaw, and Taeyong’s eyelids flutter shut of their own accord, mascara on his eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. He turns his head a little so he can ghost the lightest of pecks against Yuta’s palm.

Yuta hums and coaxes his thumb into Taeyong’s mouth; Taeyong lets him crowd his tongue against his bottom teeth. He feels Yuta’s other hand at his entrance, fingers already slick with lube, moving the string of his thong out of the way. He sighs around Yuta’s thumb when he pushes his index finger in, steady but not too harsh. 

Yuta bends over him, biting and kissing down his neck as he works his finger in and out of Taeyong. His grip on Taeyong’s jaw is strong, anchored by the thumb that’s still pressing into his tongue. He adds a second finger, stretching him wider, and uses the hand on Taeyong’s head to hold him in place while he fucks him with his fingers, faster now that he’s loosened up a little, brushing over his prostate every few strokes. Taeyong’s body almost doesn’t feel like his own—in the best way possible. Yuta is taking care of everything, and he feels _so good_. Residual pain is still thrumming over his skin, and a third finger is all it takes to have him arching his back, coming untouched against his thigh, shaking even in Yuta’s sturdy hold. Taeyong cries out, a little surprised himself, as his cock twitches weakly, releasing the last few drops of come. Some of it had shot so far down his leg that it’s soaking through his thigh-highs. It’s sticky and warm, and though Taeyong’s ears are burning with embarrassment, he loves how messy and out of control he is. He feels a couple of tears spill over from where they’ve collected, teetering on his waterline, and he sighs as the shocks of pleasure fade into a faint pulse.

“Feels good?” Yuta asks unnecessarily, laughter in his voice, withdrawing his hand from Taeyong’s mouth. “I thought you seemed a little pent up.”

“I—mm, I haven’t come all week,” Taeyong confesses through soft gasps. “It just didn’t feel right. I wanted _you_. So I just didn’t.”

“Aw, baby,” Yuta coos; he adds a fourth finger and Taeyong has to squeeze his eyes shut. “Can’t come by yourself? Need daddy to help you do it?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Taeyong whimpers. It’s not entirely true; he _could’ve_ if he really wanted to, or was desperate enough for it. He just kind of didn’t want to; kind of wanted to save it for the weekend, when he knew Yuta would be able to make him feel so much better than he could himself. But he’s happy to play up the helpless act—he wants Yuta to get the idea he needs to come again and again and again to make up for it, and needs Yuta there to make it happen. He _adores_ the way this last orgasm made him feel—a little overstimulated, and completely at Yuta’s mercy. He was powerless to the way Yuta made his body react, and he wants _more._ So he pouts, making his eyes big and pitiful. “Couldn’t do it, even though I tried. Need you, daddy. Need your cock.”

“I’m a little embarrassed to say I can’t say the same,” Yuta says, sounding very much not embarrassed, almost pleased. His tone is conspiratorial. “I was busy this week but I still found time to jack off thinking of how sweet you looked on my cock, every night. It was like I was a high schooler again.” He draws closer, kissing Taeyong’s jaw. Taeyong gasps softly. “God, babydoll, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He pulls his fingers out of Taeyong’s hole, leaving him clenching around air.

“I’m here now,” Taeyong says, petulant. “Fuck me, daddy, like you imagined all week.”

Yuta exhales his laughter, leaning in to kiss him. Taeyong brings his hands up and curls his fingers into Yuta’s hair. Yuta licks into his mouth while he feels around for the lube, blindly squeezing some out onto his palm and reaching between their bodies to slick up his cock. And then finally, Taeyong feels the head of Yuta’s cock against his entrance. “How many times does my little boy want to come?”

Maybe Taeyong _is_ in love. He certainly swoons. “As many as you can manage,” he says. “Want you to feel good, too.”

Yuta pushes his cock in slowly, pulling back so he has a better angle. He grabs the back of Taeyong’s thigh, right above his stockings, and squeezes. Taeyong sighs in what he has to conclude is relief—it feels stupid, but he _missed_ Yuta, missed his cock, missed feeling this warm and full. Yuta starts moving, slow and shallow at first, and Taeyong rolls his hips back to meet his thrusts, keening a little when Yuta hits his prostate just right. 

The sun is setting outside; it paints the room a brilliant orange. Yuta’s jewelry flashes in the light, almost blinding. The white sheets are dyed gold; a section of the dying sunlight falls over one of Taeyong’s hands where he’s pressing his palm into the mattress, fingers taut. The warmth is comforting. Yuta is going faster now; Taeyong watches the muscles in his abdomen clench and release with his movements, tracing the line of his treasure trail with his eyes, only half aware of the way he’s moaning, quiet noises of need.

“Sound so pretty,” Yuta praises, spreading Taeyong wider so he can lean in, his other hand braced on the bed next to Taeyong’s waist to support him. Taeyong reaches out feebly, managing to wrap his hand around Yuta’s wrist. “Look so pretty, too.” He smiles, and Taeyong melts into the mattress.

“Thank you, daddy,” he whispers.

“Can’t believe you were hiding all this from me,” Yuta says, but he’s smiling.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d like it,” Taeyong says.

“I think I’d like pretty much anything you could do,” Yuta replies. “Besides, who could say no to this? You look like a doll, so sweet. Not quite so innocent, though, hm?”

“N-no,” Taeyong agrees. “‘M _dirty_ , daddy.”

“That’s right.” Yuta’s eyes are fond and his voice is proud. “And you’re perfect this way.”

“Touch me,” Taeyong begs.

Yuta leans back so he can wrap a hand around Taeyong’s cock. Even though Taeyong just came not ten minutes ago, he’s already hard again, from nothing but taking Yuta’s cock. _Dirty_ echoes in his mind, but he preens a little. Yuta’s right. How else should he be?

He’s leaking all over Yuta’s fist, his breaths short and fast. He can feel himself twitching around Yuta, and he just lets it all wash over him. Taeyong’s heart is pounding, and he clenches hard when Yuta’s bottomed out, making his hips stutter. Satisfaction drips molten down from the top of his stomach to where his blood is gathering in his cock when Yuta growls in response, low and guttural. He shivers.

“You trying to get something out of me?” Yuta asks, accuses, working his hips faster, rougher. The sharp point of his hipbone smacks against one of the welts on Taeyong’s ass, and the pain is clean and delicious. The tension snaps inside Taeyong’s tummy, and he’s coming for a second time, wet and messy, all over his stomach and Yuta’s knuckles.

“No,” he answers belatedly, breathless, and Yuta laughs. 

Taeyong feels exposed now as he comes down, a little raw and tingling. It hurts a little, but he likes it. He feels used, stripped bare, and maybe that should scare him, but it doesn’t. He’s safe here in Yuta’s bed, and though there’s pain, it’s paired with a sort of solace. What’s better, though he’s whimpering helplessly, once again on the verge of tears, Yuta knows he can take it, doesn’t stop, just keeps fucking him, held in this space where it’s just the two of them.

_So good to me_ , he thinks, brain fuzzy. Yuta’s hand is on his waist now, and Taeyong swears he can feel imprints where the pads of his fingers dig into his skin. He’s gonna be all black and blue in the morning, and _god,_ he loves it.

He can tell Yuta’s close—his thrusts are a bit irregular now, and he’s got his lower lip in his mouth, likely almost bleeding between his teeth. His biceps are flexed, his grip on Taeyong’s thigh even more punishing than the hand on his waist. He seems determined to make Taeyong come a third time, though—or maybe he’s just trying to tire himself out, Taeyong’s not sure. Either way, he doesn’t mind. 

A particularly hard thrust has Taeyong squealing. “Still want more?” Yuta asks.

“Yes, please,” Taeyong says, desperate even though he knows Yuta’s always going to give him what he wants. “Want your come.”

“Yeah? How’re you gonna get it, when your hole’s so wrecked?” Yuta teases. “You’re so loose around me, baby.”

“Not my fault,” Taeyong protests.

“No? Not your fault your slutty little hole opens up so easy?” Yuta asks. “Whose fault, then?” Taeyong can’t form the words to answer, his brain a puddle in his skull, just huffs out tiny breaths of indignation. Yuta raises his eyebrows. “Is it mine? I did this to you?”

“Yes,” Taeyong hisses, trying his best to clamp down just to spite him. Yuta moans, shaky, grinding his cock into Taeyong’s swollen prostate for a moment, too overwhelmed to move more than that.

“Just like that, princess,” he murmurs, and Taeyong almost loses it. _Princess?_ His skin is searing; he hiccups in a sob. “You like that?” Yuta asks. “Princess?”

“Yes, yes,” Taeyong confirms. “Oh, _fuck_ , daddy, please.” He wants so bad to be able to fuck himself back on Yuta’s cock, but he doesn’t have the strength anymore. All he can do is take it, jaw slack, and let Yuta use his body to chase his release. Yuta takes his cock in hand again, and Taeyong seizes at the contact. It’s almost too much, but Yuta doesn’t stop, just pumps his fist over and over. 

“You feel so good, princess,” Yuta says, and Taeyong whines. “Gonna come?”

“Mm-hm,” Taeyong whimpers. “Please, want you t’— _need_ you to come, too. Fill me up, please.”

“Fuck, so filthy, begging like that.” Yuta groans, stilling inside him. To his credit, he keeps moving his fist, even when Taeyong feels the wet heat of his come. Yuta flicks his thumb over Taeyong’s slit, once, twice, and he comes, too, trembling all over as he dribbles weak, almost-clear slick out on Yuta’s fingers. 

They don’t speak for a moment, panting. Taeyong can already feel the soreness setting in everywhere, but it’s the best kind. He can’t wait to take a bath, maybe get some kind of treatment on the marks on his ass, and then fall asleep tucked into Yuta’s chest. He’s excited for the morning, too—he wants to cook for them, _and then maybe choke on Yuta’s cock or something._ He flicks his eyes up to the now-familiar ceiling and hides a smile. In some ways, Yuta’s house already feels more comfortable, more like home, than his little apartment in town. It’s kind of sweet, and kind of ridiculous.

“What?” Taeyong realizes the smile has spread across his face anyway; Yuta is looking at him, amused.

“Nothing,” Taeyong says, fully grinning now. “Can we take a bath?”

Yuta smiles back. “Sure.” He looks Taeyong over. “Well, your panties are intact,” he notes when he pulls out. “Garter, too. Can’t say the same for your stockings, though.”

Taeyong looks down, and sees Yuta pointing to a big hole. He shrugs. “They were like five bucks,” he says. “I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

“Mm, yes,” Yuta says, helping Taeyong to his feet. “I’m officially de-stressed.” 

Soon, they’re clean and getting ready for bed; Yuta pulls some kind of soothing gel out to coat Taeyong’s ass so the irritated areas from the belt won’t bother him when he sleeps. His touches are so gentle and attentive. Taeyong’s not sure if his thoroughness is because he’s so concerned for his physical wellbeing insomuch as he’s just trying to make sure Taeyong feels cared for, but either option is sweet. Maybe it’s a mix of the two.

Yuta runs downstairs to get them both some water, and Taeyong grabs his phone from his bag to check his messages. He’s surprised to see a text from Jaehyun.

**> >hope dinner went well! Wish I had a bunch of older people to pay for my food**

**lol I’ll bring u leftovers** ** _,_ **Taeyong types back, a little flustered. He sets his phone aside, and burrows into the blankets, frowning a little. 

Yuta comes back into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Water?”

“Oh, thanks.” Taeyong sits up, accepting the glass.

“What’s wrong?” Yuta asks, circling the bed and sliding in beside him. 

Taeyong shakes his head slowly, taking his time with the water while he thinks. He didn’t want to have to bring it up, but he doesn’t really see how he can’t, especially not if Jaehyun’s going to be texting him all weekend. “There’s a guy I work with,” he answers eventually. “You actually met him that night at the bar. Jaehyun. The one that walked with us to the taxi.”

Yuta nods in recognition. “Ah, yes. ‘Hollywood-handsome,’ I remember you calling him.”

“Yeah. He’s really nice but, um.” Taeyong makes a face. “He’s been—I think he’s been trying to flirt with me. We’ve gone out for lunch a couple times—like, just as friends, obviously, but today he invited me out to drinks, just the two of us, and now he’s texting me.”

“It’s always awkward when someone you’re not interested in likes you,” Yuta says, then pauses. “Are you interested in him?”

“No,” Taeyong says, giving Yuta a look of wide-eyed surprise. “Not at all. I have you.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t necessarily mean—”

“Shut up, there’s no way I’d trade you out for him,” Taeyong says. “It’s just like, as far as he knows, there’s no good reason for me _not_ to be interested in him. Unless I wasn’t gay, but like—that’s obviously not true.” Yuta laughs a little at that. “I keep making up excuses, but I don’t really know how long I can keep it up.”

“I mean, eventually you’re gonna just have to turn him down,” Yuta says. “And you don’t really owe him an explanation.”

“I don’t want to just tell him to fuck off, though,” Taeyong says. “He’s nice, he deserves better than that.”

“Well, then be nice about it,” Yuta says. “It’s not fun, but everyone has to go through it.”

“Yeah.” Taeyong sighs, setting his empty water glass down. “I guess you’re right.” He gives Yuta a weary smile. “Thanks.”

“The least I can do is give you useful advice,” Yuta says wryly. He flicks the lights off, plunging them into darkness. “C’mere.”

Taeyong crawls toward him, settling into his side and pressing his face into his chest. Yuta wraps his arms around him, kissing the top of his head and humming in the back of his throat. 

“D’you have work to do tomorrow?” Taeyong asks.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Yuta replies. “Why?”

“No, that’s good. Can I sit between your legs and suck you off while you do it?”

Yuta smacks him lightly. “Do you think about anything else? Ever?”

“When I’m with you? Rarely,” Taeyong says cheekily. “Can’t help it.”

Yuta struggles to fit one of his arms between them so he can cover Taeyong’s mouth with his hand. “Oh my god, stop it. Go to sleep.”

Taeyong licks his palm, giggling, and Yuta screams.

~ * ~

After breakfast that morning, before Yuta settles in to work, he gives Taeyong a mischievous smile and says, “Hang on, I have a surprise for you.”

Curious, and utterly confused, Taeyong follows Yuta upstairs to his room, where he disappears for a moment into the closet. He emerges holding a couple of boxes.

“What’s this?” Taeyong asks when he places them in front of him on the bed.

“Presents, for you.” Yuta steps back and gestures to the boxes. “Please, open them.”

Taeyong removes the lid from the first box, peels the tissue paper aside, and gasps. Inside is a beautiful set. It’s made from black and dark purple lace; the bra has wire supports, and the underwear have a sweet little bow right around where the decorative band would sit on Taeyong’s belly button. It’s not a thong, though it might as well be, seeing as it’s sheer. There are also little purple gems running along the seam of the crotch. He runs his fingers over the fabric, enthralled.

“Do you like it?” Yuta asks hesitantly.

“Do I—Yuta, are you kidding? It’s gorgeous,” Taeyong says. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I just like the idea of you wearing these pretty things that I picked out for you,” Yuta says. “If you don’t like them, though, I can return them and get something else. No big deal.”

“Them?” Taeyong lifts the first box; there’s a second, identical one underneath. Inside this one is a pretty white set, with a matching corset. There’s elastic criss-crossing over the front of each piece. Though it’s made of delicate material, it almost looks tough and durable.

The last box contains a short, flowy skirt. It’s white with light blue and red floral patterns, and has a cute drawstring to cinch around his waist. It even has pockets.

“What do you think?” Yuta asks. He’s trying to hide it, but Taeyong can tell he’s a little nervous.

“I love them,” Taeyong gushes softly. “Yuta, thank you. This is so—I mean, this is so much. I don’t know what to say.”

“I got the idea after last week,” Yuta says. “I just thought you’d look pretty. I was right.”

“Thank you,” Taeyong repeats, stunned.

“We can save them for tonight. I don’t think you’ll be very comfortable sitting on the floor in any of those things, pretty as they are,” Yuta says. “Besides, it would be too distracting.”

“Distracting?” Taeyong asks.

“Or did you change your mind about blowing me while I work?” Yuta asks, raising an eyebrow.

Taeyong flushes dark, stepping away from the bed. “No, not at all.”

Yuta holds out his hand. “Then come on. I have a lot to do.”

  
Taeyong takes it, feeling his heart swell in his chest; part anticipation, part adoration. As Yuta leads him out of the room, he glances at the clothing laid out on the bed. _I’m so lucky_ , he thinks, looking back at Yuta. _So fucking lucky._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi! thank u for reading! come scream abt resonance w me on my tumblr [here](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about) (no seriously yuta belly button piercing in the mv! i'll pass away, thanks)
> 
> PLEASE take my survey [here](https://forms.gle/mLRw5jt8ffufY8QM6) \- i wanna know what people want me to write next! it's super quick, just some rankings as a temperature check, basically
> 
> lastly, you can find the sets i'm referencing below--
> 
> taeyong's set: [here](https://www.agentprovocateur.com/eu_en/willa-suspender-2935)  
> taeyong's choker: [here](https://www.etsy.com/listing/618250109/pink-faux-leather-heart-padlock-choker?gpla=1&gao=1&&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=shopping_us_ts1-d-jewelry-necklaces-chokers&utm_custom1=_k_Cj0KCQjwoJX8BRCZARIsAEWBFMI04NkZRLuAPQLRlcmD-DD2Ohlp8i7K4GaLwh8abtPgJa1r3NcjLYgaAt2xEALw_wcB_k_&utm_content=go_1848514052_72717796307_346522599299_pla-338380856521_c__618250109_116068199&utm_custom2=1848514052&gclid=Cj0KCQjwoJX8BRCZARIsAEWBFMI04NkZRLuAPQLRlcmD-DD2Ohlp8i7K4GaLwh8abtPgJa1r3NcjLYgaAt2xEALw_wcB)
> 
> 1st set from yuta: [here](https://www.agentprovocateur.com/eu_en/karmen-high-waisted-brief-black-purple-6038) (scroll for bra ^^)  
> 2nd set from yuta: [here](https://www.agentprovocateur.com/eu_en/essie-waspie-white-6030)  
> skirt: [here](https://www.revolve.com/loveshackfancy-cheyenne-skirt/dp/LESH-WQ101/?d=Womens&page=1&lc=37&itrownum=58&itcurrpage=1&itview=05)


	6. touch me anywhere ('cause i'm your baby)

The weekend passes in a pleasant haze, and too soon Taeyong is thrust back into the real world. The good news is this week they have a series of lecturers coming in on Thursday, experts and professionals who are coming to talk about their work and how they started their careers. It’s not that Taeyong isn’t interested, it’s just that it’s okay if he’s a little tired, because he can kind of zone out if he wants with no repercussions. Besides, he’s not here to actually become a producer. He just thought it would be useful for him to have the background, even if he wants to be an artist instead. So if he dozes his way through the lectures, it’s no big deal. 

Jaehyun, on the other hand, is really excited. “Dude, we’ll get to see so many cool people,” he says. “This one guy, Yukkuri—he doesn’t have many pictures online, like, no social media, but I love all the shit he produces. I can’t wait for his talk.”

“Jab me when it’s his turn,” Taeyong replies, following him into the lecture hall. “I might doze off.”

“You’re insane,” Jaehyun says fondly, shaking his head.

“No, just tired,” Taeyong defends.

They take their seats beside one another. For Jaehyun’s benefit, Taeyong tries to focus, but he zones out quickly. He’s not exactly sleeping, but he’s definitely not paying attention. And then Jaehyun pokes him and hisses, “He’s next!”

Taeyong jumps a little, straightening in his seat and squinting down at the man walking up to the lectern, and almost screams out loud.

“Hey,” Jaehyun says quietly. “Isn’t that—isn’t that the guy you were with that night at the bar?”

_Shit._ Taeyong’s brain feels like it’s being electrocuted. _Shit, shit, shit._ Because that’s _Yuta_ , smiling his strange, wide smile up at them with his hands balanced on either side of the lectern, blue suit pressed tight, tie smoothed down, beautiful white-blonde hair slicked back. They make eye contact and Taeyong feels frozen; Yuta brushes past it without even a blink. _Did he know? Why wouldn’t he tell me? How did_ I _not know?_

“Taeyong?” Jaehyun whispers.

“Y-yeah, um,” Taeyong fumbles. “Yeah, that’s—that’s the family friend I’ve been staying with. I forgot you guys met a-at the bar. To be honest, I forgot most of that night. I didn’t know he was gonna be doing this, though. I didn’t know who he was.”

“That’s weird,” Jaehyun says. “Why wouldn’t he tell you?”

“Fuck if I know,” Taeyong says. “I knew he was a producer, but that’s all.”

To his relief, Jaehyun just shrugs. “Well, adults are weird,” he concedes. “Maybe it just, like, slipped his mind, or he thought your parents or someone already told you.”

Taeyong can’t pay attention to a word Yuta is saying, or to any of the next presenters. He pulls out his phone once Yuta’s done, tapping out a quick message to start doing damage control.

**hey so this was a bit of a surprise. I’m just letting you know that I told Jaehyun you were a family friend, and he recognized you from the night at the bar. I told him you went to university with my uncle. last weekend, I was supposed to be at a bunch of family gatherings with you. I told him i had no idea you were yukkuri. It’s mainly a problem because he’s a fan & he’s definitely going to get me to introduce you during the banquet.**

**> >got it. sorry about all this** **_,_ **Yuta types back a minute later.

**I’m sorry, too** **_,_ **Taeyong replies. 

Just as Taeyong predicted, Jaehyun practically drags him out of the room as soon as the last presenter is finished. He holds Taeyong’s arm with both hands and pulls him into the banquet hall. “I can’t wait to meet him,” he says, going on tiptoe to see over the crowd already gathered in front of the food.

“It’s going to be quite the wait,” Taeyong points out.

They get food and eat as they wait in line. Taeyong can hear Yuta’s easy laughter floating out from where he’s sat in the corner, and his stomach swoops low every time. Jaehyun ducks away to throw out their plates when they’re done eating, and is back just in time.

“Yuta- _samchon_ ,” Taeyong greets, cringing internally. “This is Jaehyun, and he’s a big fan.”

“Hi, Yukkuri- _sunbaenim_ ,” Jaehyun says, bowing and offering his hand to shake. “I love your work.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you,” Yuta says, smiling, tone clipped and professional. He turns his gaze on Taeyong. “I’m sorry, this must have been a surprise. I didn’t know it was your internship I would be presenting for.”

“Yeah, it was a bit of a shock,” Taeyong replies dryly. “Though I guess I never really asked what exactly it is you do.”

Jaehyun slings an arm around Taeyong’s shoulders, pulling him close. “I had no idea it was someone so renowned that was stealing him away over the weekends,” he says cheerfully. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have been so put out.”

“Jae—” Taeyong mutters, shifting uneasily in his hold. 

Yuta flicks his eyes between them, back and forth, expression unreadable. “Well, I’m sure I could spare him,” he says. “Especially for such a… close friend.”

Jaehyun is grinning. “Only if it’s convenient,” he says. 

Taeyong gives Jaehyun a side-headbutt in an attempt to get him to let go. It works. “Jaehyun treats me really well,” he says to Yuta. “Sometimes I forget that I’m older.”

“I can see that,” Yuta says.

“Anyway,” Taeyong continues, looping his arm around Jaehyun’s. “We’ll leave you to the others. See you later!”

“It was nice to meet you!” Jaehyun calls, bowing again as Taeyong tugs him away. Taeyong can feel Yuta’s eyes on his back as they disappear into the crowd. Jaehyun squeezes Taeyong’s forearm. “He’s so cool! I like his hair.”

“Yeah,” Taeyong snorts. “He goes through a lot of grief to keep it that light. You’d think, like, he could just wait a few years, and then it would come out white naturally.”

“You’re so mean!” Jaehyun says, laughing. “Though I bet once it does, he’ll start dyeing it another color. Tell him he should try red.”

Taeyong imagines Yuta with red hair and suppresses a shiver. _He’d look so good_. “I’ll mention it,” he says, shaking his head. 

Jaehyun, luckily, seems to have used up his social battery for the day. He finds a table to sit at and Taeyong grabs a plate of snacks and follows him. 

The banquet is winding down, and they don’t have to stay for the afternoon. Taeyong’s original plan was to finish up a couple of things and then head home and cook something for himself, but now he’s not quite sure.

“Hey,” Jaehyun says. “I’m probably going to head out in a little bit. Do you wanna come with me? We can go to a cafe or see a movie or something.”

Taeyong looks at him, thinking. “I… was going to stay and wrap a few things up,” he says. “But after that, I’m free.”

“I can wait,” Jaehyun offers. “I’ll just sit in the lounge and read till you’re done.”

“O-oh, I mean, if you want,” Taeyong says. It’s not really like he can say no. If he says the work will take a while, then Jaehyun will offer to help him, and he doesn’t really want that, because it’s actually quite easy. “Um, I shouldn’t be too long? I’ll let you know if anything changes, though.”

“Okay.” Jaehyun stands, grabbing Taeyong’s empty plate. “Let’s go, then.”

“‘Kay,” Taeyong says, following him out the door. He glances back over his shoulder, but doesn’t see Yuta.

Jaehyun walks with him back to the workspaces before peeling off towards the employee lounge. “Just come get me when you’re done!” he says with a wave. “I’ll check showtimes.”

Taeyong nods, waving too, and makes his way to his desk. He gets his work out and starts on one of his projects. About ten minutes pass, and then his phone buzzes in his pocket.

**> >are you still at the office**

It’s Yuta. Taeyong frowns slightly at the message, and types back, **yeah, not for long tho. why?**

**> >meet me in recording studio 7 in 5 minutes**

Taeyong’s heart thumps in his chest. He scoots his chair back out and tries to walk at a completely normal pace as he makes his way to the bathroom. There can be only one thing Yuta wants from this meeting. He checks his pocket and is relieved to find a tin of mints there; he picks one out and pops it in his mouth, crushing it between his teeth, rolling the shards around quickly with his tongue while he fixes his hair in the mirror. 

When the mint is gone, he washes his hands and heads out and down the hall. Luckily, the recording studios are in the opposite direction as the lounge, so there’s no way Jaehyun will see him. He passes a couple of staff members who nod hello. Taeyong tries not to blush.

Yuta is waiting in the dark studio when he arrives. 

“Hi,” Taeyong whispers, barely able to make out Yuta’s silhouette from the light coming through the small window on the door. 

“Lock it,” Yuta says quietly. “And come here.”

Taeyong does as he’s told, flipping the lock and crossing the room to where Yuta’s sitting in front of the coffee table on the couch. As his eyes adjust to the light, he can see that Yuta’s taken his jacket off and loosened his tie around his neck so that he could undo the top button of his shirt. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows. He has one leg crossed over the other, one hand on the armrest of the chair, the other in his pocket. Taeyong swallows very hard. 

“Any particular reason you wanted to meet in a recording studio with the lights all off?” Taeyong asks, not really sure what else to do.

“So, Jaehyun, huh?” Yuta’s tone is carefully conversational. Taeyong draws in a breath.

“I told you, he’s been… trying to flirt.” Taeyong shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Yeah.” Yuta looks at him. “Yeah, he was really friendly.”

“Yuta,” Taeyong says, reaching out. He picks up his hand and holds it in both of his. “You know it’s not like that. Not for me.”

Yuta yanks him forward; Taeyong stumbles into his lap, gasping as he falls. “D’you ever wish you could tell him exactly why you don’t want him?”

“All the time,” Taeyong breathes out, and Yuta growls, a low rumble in his chest, and kisses him.

He kisses him like he’s trying to consume him, and though Taeyong knows a lot of this is just for fun—that Yuta will absolutely stop if he tells him to stop—there’s definitely a part of him that isn’t just being possessive for the sake of it. Taeyong is reeling. He moans, wrapping his arms around Yuta’s neck, leaning forward into the kiss, letting his legs drop open.

Yuta goes to unbutton his shirt, breaking the kiss in favor of attaching his lips to Taeyong’s neck. As he’s undoing his shirt, Taeyong hears him murmur, “Is this okay?” really soft next to his ear.

“Yes, yeah,” Taeyong replies, rocking forward a little to punctuate his words. 

“Good,” Yuta says. “Because it’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

“Yeah?” Taeyong asks, goading him. “You didn’t like it when Jaehyun touched me, did you? I saw your eyes. What were you thinking of?”

“I _wish_ I could’ve thrown his hands off,” Yuta says. “He had you in a headlock, almost. He was so rough. But you only like rough if it’s with the right people.”

“Mm,” Taeyong agrees. “And he’s not the right people— _ah!_ ” Yuta had pushed his now-unbuttoned shirt off of his shoulders and closed his mouth over one of Taeyong’s nipples. “Y-Yuta.”

“Who _is_ the right people, then, baby?” Yuta asks, low and quiet.

“ _ou_ , daddy,” Taeyong says, almost plaintive.

“That’s right.” Yuta bites down gently on Taeyong’s nipple, just to tease. It makes Taeyong gasp, and while he’s distracted, Yuta pushes him up off his lap and turns him around so he’s facing the door. He tugs Taeyong’s shirt the rest of the way off and discards it beside them. “If I see him put his hands on you like that again, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Wish you could show him,” Taeyong says breathlessly, wiggling his hips to help Yuta peel his jeans down.

“Yeah?” Yuta abandons Taeyong’s jeans and underwear where they’re tangled around his shins, and splays his hand flat against Taeyong’s chest, drawing his back against him. Goosebumps break out across Taeyong’s arms when he feels the hard line of Yuta’s cock pressed against his ass. Yuta hooks his chin on his shoulder, nosing at his neck. “You wanna show him how bad you want me? Want my cock? You want him to know how you open right up for me, how you cry, how you call me _daddy_?”

“Yes,” Taeyong whimpers, trembling. In the back of his mind, he feels a little bad for dragging Jaehyun into this. But, he supposes, it’s kind of Jaehyun’s fault to begin with. Taeyong never wanted him to like him, after all. “So he’d know it’s you. Not him.”

“Me?” Yuta nips at his neck, then pushes him down. Taeyong catches himself with his hands, knees almost buckling. He hears rustling behind him—Yuta taking off his clothes, he assumes, and then the telltale crinkling of what Taeyong has to guess is a packet of lube. “Are you sure? ‘Cuz he wasn’t the only one doing the touching, was he? You were all over him, too, weren’t you?”

“N-no,” Taeyong denies, and is rewarded by a sharp smack on the ass. He moans softly and relaxes against the table, pillowing his head on his arms. “I wasn’t,” he insists.

Yuta hits him again. “No? Don’t lie to me, baby. You were clinging to his arm. I mean,” he continues, voice taking on a tone of overdone false politeness. “Who could blame you? He has nice arms, doesn’t he? Probably a nice body, too. He’s taller than daddy, isn’t he? And much stronger. Probably bigger.” Taeyong feels a lube-slick finger against his entrance. “He could probably stuff this little hole so well. That’s what you want, isn’t it, slut?”

“ _No_ ,” Taeyong repeats, cheeks flaming, tears threatening on his waterline. “No, no, daddy, I don’t. I don’t care if he’s bigger.” Yuta makes a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat, pushing his finger into Taeyong. Even though his words are harsh, almost cruel, his touch is still gentle. “I don’t care,” Taeyong says. “I like _your_ cock. Always fuck me so well.”

“I do, don’t I?” Yuta’s voice is cold and patronizing; he eases his finger in-out, in-out, quick but not vicious, just enough to make Taeyong’s head spin. “Could Jaehyun fuck you like I do?”

“No,” Taeyong says immediately, sure of it. “Daddy, _please_ , hurry.”

“Hurry?” To his credit, Yuta does add a second finger anyway. “What, you afraid we’re gonna get caught?”

“Someone could see through the window,” Taeyong protests, though he makes absolutely no move to remedy it. It’s light outside and dark inside; what little light does fall in the room fades at the other side of the coffee table. Someone would have to come in, or press their face to the glass to see. Still, it’s possible, and it makes Taeyong feel like his skin is on fire.

Yuta knows him all too well. “You’d like it, though, wouldn’t you?” He bends over him and presses a row of kisses down Taeyong’s spine. “If someone were to happen by and see you, lying here on your tummy while you let daddy use your pretty body to come?”

“I’d get fired,” Taeyong says, but he’s giggling. 

“Well, good thing you have me, then, hm?” Yuta adds another finger and pumps them in and out of Taeyong, curling them against his prostate, again and again until his legs are shaking. “No one will see us,” he says. Taeyong can hear his smile. “Who’s even still here? Bet you were the only overachiever who stayed late to get some work done.”

Taeyong freezes. He forgot Yuta doesn’t know Jaehyun’s still here, waiting for him patiently in the lounge, oblivious to what Taeyong’s _really_ up to. “Um,” Taeyong says, swallowing.

“What?” There’s real concern in Yuta’s voice. “What is it, baby?”

“Well—Jaehyun’s still here, too,” Taeyong admits. “He—he said he’d wait ’til I was done working so we could go catch a movie.”

Yuta yanks his fingers out; Taeyong’s cock throbs from both the sensation and his anticipation. “You’re going on a _date_ with Jaehyun, and you were about to let me fuck you like it was nothing?”

Taeyong isn’t sure exactly what he means, but he rushes to deny it anyway. “No, no, it’s not a date,” he says. “He—he just said he was free and asked if I was too. I—I couldn’t say no, he knows I don’t do anything on weeknights. I didn’t want him asking too many questions, so—so I just said yes.”

Yuta is silent behind him, and Taeyong is too scared to move and find out what’s going on. His heart is pounding in his ears; he’s surprised Yuta can’t hear it. Maybe he can. He squeezes his eyes shut. He knows it’s not as serious as they’re pretending—of course Yuta knows he would never, of course he’s not actually this angry—but logic is far away right now. Blaring louder in his head is the thought that he’s _disappointed_ Yuta, that he’s been a _bad_ boy. 

And Yuta—god, Yuta is so good. He puts his hand on Taeyong’s arm, brushing the pads of his fingers over his skin. “Baby, you’re shaking,” he says. “You okay?”

Taeyong doesn’t know how to respond. A tear slips down his cheek unbidden, and he sniffles, more angry at himself for being like this than truly upset. Yuta doesn’t miss it, though; he flips him over gently as he can, and scoops him up, cradling him to his chest.

“Daddy,” Taeyong mumbles.

“Oh, honey, no,” Yuta says. “Shh, it’s okay. Don’t cry, hm? Don’t cry. I get it, okay? You didn’t want to be mean, or make it awkward. You didn’t know I was gonna drag you in here. How could you know? And it’s not like you need my permission to go out with your friends.”

Taeyong sobs softly against Yuta’s chest. “I know,” he says. “I just—” But he doesn’t know what he’s trying to say. It feels like Yuta doesn’t trust him, doesn’t trust that he’s mature enough or smart enough to make his own decisions. It hurts that Yuta seems to think none of this matters to him. But it’s not supposed to, right? It’s just a fun, albeit unconventional, little fling, so why should Taeyong care so much what Yuta thinks? Wouldn’t saying it betray how much he likes Yuta, how attached he’s grown? And isn’t that against the rules? They can’t have a future. So what’s the point?

“Baby?” Yuta prompts softly.

Taeyong shakes his head, wiping his tears away. “’Snothing,” he says. “Just—I didn’t know what to do.”

“D’you wanna stop?”

“No!” Taeyong exclaims, surprising Yuta a little. “No,” he repeats softer. It’s the last thing he wants. “Please, fuck me. I want to feel it when I’m out tonight. So I can sorta have you with me.”

Yuta nods, expression going hard again. “You want a reminder of what I can give you, is that it?”

“Yes,” Taeyong says, relieved. “ _Please_.” He lets Yuta spin him back around, collapsing happily back on the cool surface of the coffee table.

“What if you’re limping? What’ll you say to Jaehyun?” Yuta asks, teasing. Taeyong hears crinkling again, and realizes Yuta’s using a condom. He knows it’s because it’ll be easier to clean up, so he can’t be upset, but he’s still a little put out.

“I’ll just let him guess,” Taeyong says. “He’d never be able to get it right, and ‘snot like he can ask me outright, anyway.”

Yuta laughs darkly as he lines himself up with Taeyong’s hole. “We’re gonna have to be quick now, baby,” he says. “Didn’t know you had somebody waiting.”

“It’s okay if it’s quick,” Taeyong says. “As long as it hurts.”

“I can promise that much,” Yuta says, and pushes into him. Taeyong’s mouth drops open—Yuta’s prep was cursory and distracted, so he’s still a little tight. The stretch burns, but Taeyong doesn’t mind. He wants it, relishes it, grits his teeth at the drag and moans through them, tongue heavy in his mouth.

_Yuta is so fucking stupid_ , he thinks to himself. _What’s there to be jealous for? As if I’d want anything other than this_. As soon as the movement isn’t difficult, Yuta picks up the pace. The coffee table shifts with each thrust, and Taeyong reaches an arm out in an attempt to hold it in place. He wants Yuta to _rail_ him, and for that they need a sturdy surface.

He’s glad they need to make it quick in a way, though. As much as he likes it when they drag this out, Taeyong needs to come. Even with the little pause they took for his untimely breakdown, he’s still hard and needy. His cock is drooling precome against the side of the table where it smears against his thighs, messier with each stroke in.

“More,” he demands, voice thick.

“You always want more,” Yuta says, but he gives it to him, grip tightening on his waist. The room is filled with the sharp noise of skin on skin, ringing in Taeyong’s ears. It _hurts,_ and it’s _perfect._ “Like that?” Yuta grits out.

“Y-yeah,” Taeyong says. “Feels so good, daddy, _fuck_.”

“You’re _tight_ ,” Yuta hisses. “‘M not gonna last long.”

“I’m not, either,” Taeyong says. “Please, daddy, I don’t care, I just wanna come.” Yuta doesn’t reply, just groans and fucks him harder, hitting his prostate every time. Taeyong’s cock drags against the coffee table; it’s not much, but it’s enough to make him feel weak. “Oh, _god_ ,” Taeyong moans, covering his face with his hands. “Shit, Yuta, ‘m gonna come.”

“Gonna come for me?” Yuta pants. “Gonna come on my cock?”

“Fu-uck, oh, _fuck_ , yes, yesyesyes.” Taeyong can’t be bothered to be fully coherent, but he knows Yuta doesn’t mind. With this angle, Yuta can get _so_ deep. It’s easy for him to go really hard, too, so Taeyong’s not really surprised he’s been reduced to a mess so quickly. He doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed, not even when he’s coming against the side of the table a few moments later. “Daddy,” he breathes out as he tries to catch his breath. “Oh god, daddy.”

“You sound so sweet, baby,” Yuta says. “God, you’re perfect.”

Taeyong just hums, a smile stretching across his face as Yuta stills. He feels the heat of his come even through the condom, and he sighs, breath hiccuping when Yuta pulls out.

Taeyong gingerly pulls up his jeans and underwear; he’ll have to stop at the bathroom to clean up the mess the lube made. “Are there tissues somewhere?” he asks Yuta as he’s buttoning up his shirt.

“On the desk.” Yuta drops the tied condom in the trash and reaches over to grab something. “Here.” He tosses the box to Taeyong, who fumbles to catch it.

They clean up in silence, and then stand facing each other for a moment. Taeyong leans in for a kiss, and Yuta holds him close. It’s sweet and fierce, and a few long moments pass before they break away.

“You go first,” Yuta says, brushing some of Taeyong’s hair back into place. “Jaehyun is waiting.”

Taeyong presses his lips together, letting Yuta fix his clothes a little. “We’re not—he just wants to go see a movie. I promise it’s nothing.”

“Okay,” Yuta whispers. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

“Yeah,” Yuta replies. “I’ll be around yours, six o’clock sharp.”

“It’s a date,” Taeyong says, and then slips out the door and into the bright light of the hall. 

He heads to the bathroom on unsteady legs to freshen up, grateful that he doesn’t pass anyone on his way. _There’s no way I’m getting my work done now_. He’s only been gone for about twenty or thirty minutes, but he never intended to stay very late to begin with. _It’s fine,_ he thinks as he ambles back to his desk. _I’ll just get it done tomorrow._ He logs out, putting his things away, plucks his coat up from the back of his chair, and goes to find Jaehyun.

“Ready?” Jaehyun looks up from his phone when Taeyong enters the lounge. “I found this movie showing in about an hour at that cinema in the mall? It’s a cartoon, like—for kids, but it looks good.” He hands his phone to Taeyong so he can see. “I thought maybe we could grab a bite to eat at that cafe on the second floor before.”

“Sounds good,” Taeyong agrees, passing his phone back to him. 

“How’d your work go?” Jaehyun asks as they head out onto the street.

Taeyong chances a glance over his shoulder. Yuta is coming around the corner into the lobby as the doors of the building slide shut. Taeyong sees his eyes widen in recognition right before he disappears from view, and his stomach clenches with a new sort of anxiety. “Good,” he answers vaguely, realizing Jaehyun is still waiting. “It was good.”

~ * ~

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Taeyong says as soon as he’s in the car with the door shut.

“Well, it’s not really something that naturally comes up in conversation,” Yuta points out, though he sounds kind of sheepish.

Taeyong just huffs as Yuta starts the car and pulls away from the apartment complex. “I can’t believe you didn’t even think to mention it to me, though. You know I have an internship for music production. You couldn’t have bothered to check if the presentation you were giving happened to be for mine?” Taeyong asks.

“In my defense, there are a _lot_ of music-related internships in this city,” Yuta replies. “And I didn’t want to talk about work. It’s not fun, right?”

“Well, it’s also not fun to find out that the guy I’m fucking is a world-renowned producer,” Taeyong says. “A world-renowned producer that the guy who’s maybe-definitely flirting with me is a huge fan of. Also, I found this out after being half asleep for the better part of an hour.”

“Where did you guys go?” Yuta asks. “After? I saw you leaving.”

“For coffee, and then a movie,” Taeyong says, fidgeting a little. “He didn’t, like, try anything, though.”

“I see.” Yuta is quiet for a moment. “Taeyong, all those things I said—it’s…” He trails off; Taeyong doesn’t try to hurry him along. “It’s okay, if you’d rather be with him. I won’t be angry. Yeah, I get a little jealous, but it’s only because you said you’d choose me over him. If you change your mind, just tell me, and I’ll back off, okay?”

“Yuta,” Taeyong says, confused. “I told you, I don’t want him. All the things _I_ said? I meant it, okay?” He reaches over and puts his hand on Yuta’s thigh. “I want you.” Sighing, he shifts his seatbelt down under his right arm, and then leans across the console to rest his cheek on Yuta’s leg. He runs his thumb over the rough fabric of Yuta’s jeans. “I want _you_ , daddy.”

Yuta brings a hand down off the steering to pet Taeyong’s hair. “Okay,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. 

After that, though, the weekend is all back to normal. They don’t mention any of it—Jaehyun, their meeting in the studio; it’s like it never happened. Yuta cooks Taeyong dinner and breakfast and lunch, holds him close at night, and fucks him until he’s sore and tired and so, so happy, so Taeyong assumes that’s the end of it. 

It’s Sunday evening and Taeyong is taking his time in the bathtub while Yuta goes about fixing them some post-sex snacks. The water is rapidly cooling, but Taeyong’s limbs feel so heavy. He knows he should get out before he falls asleep, but it’s difficult to convince himself to move. Yuta pops his head in the bathroom to check on him and chuckles when he sees him dozing. 

“What?” Taeyong asks, raising his head.

“You still have soap in your hair, baby,” Yuta says. Taeyong reaches up to try and get it, but Yuta gets there first. “Here, let me.” 

Taeyong closes his eyes, melting under Yuta’s touch. He rinses his head off for him and then pulls him to his feet amid protests. “‘M tired,” Taeyong whines.

“Well, you can’t sleep in the tub, honey,” Yuta says, giving him a patient, affectionate smile. “C’mon. I know you’re just choosing to be difficult.”

“It’s only ‘cuz you always let me,” Taeyong replies, self-satisfied. “See?” He adds when Yuta wraps his towel around him, patting him dry. “You’re an enabler. I’m only like this because I know you’ll take care of me.”

Yuta just says, “Yeah,” hanging the towel back up and gesturing him into the bedroom where snacks are waiting. Taeyong presses a dried sweet potato to his tongue, sinking down onto the bed as he chews. Yuta is moving slowly; it’s not lethargic so much as he seems lost in thought.

“You okay?” Taeyong asks when he approaches the bed.

Yuta’s eyes are vacant and it takes him a moment to respond. He unfurrows his brow and gives Taeyong a half-smile. “Yeah,” he says absently as he climbs into bed beside him. “I’m all good. Could you pass me some of the green tea mochi?”

  
Taeyong does, feeling a little lost. His mind flicks back to how he felt that day in the studio. It’s almost like Yuta’s miles away suddenly, lost in worries that he can’t or won’t tell Taeyong about. _What is it?_ Taeyong wants to ask, but he doesn’t want to push it. Nothing he tells himself soothes the gnawing fear growing in his belly, either. Even when Yuta cuddles him that night, he seems distracted, like he’s somewhere else entirely. Taeyong doesn’t know how to get him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! please come say hi on [tumblr](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com.about), and remember to take [my survey](https://forms.gle/1dsXnEArkBpNXjwL7) if you haven't already! It closes tomorrow night!
> 
> Also, if you're looking to see what I'm up to next, or want to see my posting schedule, I'll include links below:  
> [december posting schedule](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/post/636155092469448704/december-posting-schedule-click-for-hd)  
> [drafts of future posting schedules + some basic information about upcoming/ongoing works](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/post/637430169787858944/instead-of-doing-my-finals-im-scheming)  
> [a bare bones timetable of the next few months](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/post/637875505398464512/welcome-back-to-xiamis-procrastination-hours)
> 
> and finally if you wanna hear what i have to say about my own work, you can see that [here](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/post/637787401295626240/tagged-by-lovingonrepeat-tysm-dj-you-have-no)!


	7. summer’s meant for lovin’ and leavin’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI so there's a lot of like... mild alcohol abuse in this chapter just in that Taeyong gets drunk and does stupid shit. It's not serious or terribly heavy, but i figured i should put a warning just in case. all that being said, PLEASE don't use alcohol to self-medicate! it's very dangerous and unhealthy. I never do it and I'm not condoning it by writing this chapter ^^

The next week is a little weird. Yuta’s still busy, and so is Taeyong, but even that doesn’t explain the awkwardness of their texts, the long stretches of silence. It’s with both anxiety and relief that Taeyong gets into Yuta’s car the following Friday evening. The drive is mostly silent, too, but Yuta has his hand on his thigh again, so at least that’s something. 

Taeyong tries to convince himself he’s being overdramatic or reading too much into it. Maybe Yuta’s just stressed, or tired, or Taeyong’s just being sensitive. It could be anything. So he helps with dinner, trying his best to be his usual, happy self even if Yuta doesn’t reciprocate as much as he normally would.

Dinner is store-bought kimbap and homemade jjajangmyeon, which Taeyong would normally wholeheartedly enjoy, but it’s hard when Yuta is sitting across from him, pushing his noodles around on the plate. He’s unusually quiet, and once the dishes are done, there’s a pause before he speaks.

“Come into the living room with me,” he says. “I think we need to talk.”

Confused and now very concerned, Taeyong can do nothing but follow him, drying his hands on his shirt. “What is it?” he asks, voice small. 

Yuta sighs, running his hands through his hair. “Taeyong, I... I can’t stop thinking about last week,” he says. “And Jaehyun. And you. I can’t stop thinking that this, all of this—” he gestures between them. “—is so irresponsible of me. You’re young; you should be doing normal, young-person things. And I—I should’ve just left you alone.”

Taeyong feels like the floor is falling out from beneath his feet. He stammers out his reply in his shock and his hurt. “S-so, what? You’re saying we can’t see each other anymore?”

Yuta gives him a helpless look. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying.” He begins to pace, short lines back and forth in front of the TV. “It’s just—Taeyong, I feel so guilty. You should be out there, having fun. You should be going out for drinks tonight, hanging out with guys your own age, not here.”

“Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do,” Taeyong says crossly. He wants to scream it; he feels out of breath, scared and horribly sad. “I don’t care what I _should_ be doing. I just know what I _want_ to be doing.”

“I don’t think you actually know what you want, exactly,” Yuta argues. “And that’s okay—you’re not really supposed to. But it’s my job to help you make the right decisions, choose the right things.”

“You mean choose for me.” Taeyong glares at him. “I’m an adult, you know.”

“Barely!” Yuta flings his hands into the air. “Which is exactly the problem! I can’t keep—I can’t just keep on inviting you over here every weekend, and just keep using you because you don’t know any better.”

“That’s mean!” Taeyong says, stung. “You _know_ that’s mean. You think I’m just some dumb fucking kid? You think I don’t understand what’s going on here? Of course I do! I’m making a conscious, sane decision to be here right now. With you, Yuta. I’ll have my late nights at a club and whatever other shit you think I’m missing out on when I’m back at school.”

“Taeyong, I’m sorry.” To Yuta’s credit, he seems sincere. “I just don’t think I can let this keep on happening.”

“Then why the fuck did you drag me all the way out here tonight?” Taeyong asks. He’s going back and forth, first overwhelmed by sadness and next by anger. The only constant feeling is the tears stinging in his eyes, threatening to spill over.. “Stringing me along, acting weird during dinner, only to tell me to get out?”

“That’s not it,” Yuta says. “I didn’t want to do this in public, that’s all. And I wanted to make sure you got dinner. So, here we are.”

“Here we are,” Taeyong repeats, bitter. “I don’t understand. I want to be here, and you want me to be here, so what’s the issue?”

“We just can’t; not anymore,” Yuta says. “I’m sorry, I really am. I made a mistake, and I let it go way too far. I mean, last week? What was that? What if someone walked in on us? We were joking about it at the time, but that would be life-ruining for the both of us. I’m worried I’m ruining your life now, as it is.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes. “I’m much safer with you in my life than without,” he says. He doesn’t know why he’s arguing anymore. It’s clear Yuta has made up his mind. But he has to try, does he? He can’t accept that he was just some random boy to Yuta, and that this is happening because Yuta’s conscience finally caught up with him. He _knows_ it’s not true; he’s seen the way Yuta looks at him, felt the gentleness of his hands. He _cares_. Taeyong just doesn’t know how to get him to admit it. “D’you know what I’d be doing on the weekends if I didn’t have you? I’d be getting drunk and going out to bars and going home with strangers, and I wouldn’t even remember half of it the next morning. Who knows what would happen to me?”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Yuta replies. “Look, I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just didn’t want to do it over text or the phone, and I didn’t want to do it in public. And I wanted to make sure I was sure.” He pauses, shaking his head. “But—I am. I can drive you home, of course—”

“So,” Taeyong cuts him off. A stupid tear slips down his cheek, and his voice wobbles, even though he’s trying to fight it. “You don’t want me anymore?”

Yuta just closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “That’s not relevant.”

“Yeah, go ahead and ignore the question, just like you’re ignoring everything that I’m saying.” Taeyong snatches his bag up from where he dropped it at the base of the stairs, angrily brushing the tears from his eyes.. “Thanks for dinner, I guess.”

“Wait—where are you going? I said I could drive you.” Yuta trails after him as he heads first to the garage door to get his shoes, then to the front door—Taeyong realizes he’s never used the front door once this whole time. His mouth twists into a wry smile. It’s kind of fitting. “Taeyong, it’s getting late. I’ll drive you.”

“No, thanks,” Taeyong says coldly, yanking the door open. “I’ll just take the bus.”

“Taeyong, don’t be ridiculous—”

“I don’t need you!” Taeyong spits at Yuta, whirling around on his porch. He would’ve been proud of himself, except he’s still crying. “You can make this decision and change my life on a whim, and you can tell yourself you did the right thing all you want. But that means you don’t get any _say_ in my life anymore. So—congrats!” Taeyong flings his free hand out. “I’m no longer your problem.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He hurries down the front walk and out onto the street. Yuta calls after him, but when Taeyong chances a glance over his shoulder, he doesn’t see him following. 

He sobs quietly as he walks, vision blurry as he struggles to navigate to the nearest bus stop. The next bus is coming in about ten minutes, but it’s not cold, and the street isn’t busy, so when Taeyong gets to the stop, he uses the time to finish crying and start thinking about what to do.

It’s poetic, or maybe fated. He’s wiping the last of his tears off of his jaw when his phone buzzes in his hand with a message from Jaehyun. 

**> >I’m bored do u wanna come hang?**

For a second, Taeyong does consider saying no. He really wants to just curl up in bed the whole weekend. But he also doesn’t want to be alone. _Maybe Yuta’s right,_ he thinks to himself sadly. _I mean, it’s not like we were going to last. And if I’d never met Yuta, there’s a really big chance Jaehyun and I would be hooking up anyway. And since Yuta and I are over…_

**Yeah, actually,** he types back. **Can you send me your address?**

**Yeah here,** Jaehyun replies, adding, **pack some clothes or whatever so u can stay over i don’t want u to try and get home in the dark by urself**

**Ok!** Taeyong puts the address in and is delighted to see this bus he’s waiting for is the right one. He’ll have to transfer, but he’s on the right track.

The bus pulls up a few minutes later, and Taeyong boards, tapping his phone to the sensor to pay, and scoots into a seat by the window.

The sun is still pretty high in the sky because of the time of year, even though it’s nearing eight o’clock. Taeyong watches the scenery out the window, headphones in so he can lose himself to his thoughts for a little while. Tears threaten again, but he wills them away. It never meant anything, so there’s nothing to cry over. But still, no matter how hard he tries, he ends up thinking about Yuta again—Yuta, and his strange, wide smile, his perfect teeth, his pretty hair, his arms, his body, his voice and the way he called Taeyong _baby—_ and it hurts. He feels abandoned and empty.

_You’d have to say goodbye eventually_ , Taeyong reminds himself. _At least now you have a little time to get over it._

Taeyong succeeds in changing buses and arrives at Jaehyun’s just as the sun is thinking about setting. He approaches the door of the apartment building cautiously, and pushes the button next to Jaehyun’s unit number. 

**> >I’ll be down in a sec!**

Taeyong shifts his bag to his other hand, using the window as a mirror so he can rearrange his hair. His eyes are a little puffy from crying, but they’re not red, so Taeyong decides it’s a win. He’s a pretty crier, luckily, so he’s not too worried.

He sees Jaehyun emerge from the stairwell, and waves. Jaehyun waves back with a sweet smile on his face, and hurries over to the door. “Hey!” he says, holding it open so Taeyong can slip by. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” Taeyong replies.

“I thought you might be spending time with, uh, Yukkuri again,” Jaehyun says as he leads him up the stairs. “Which, make no mistake, is very cool. I just thought I’d text you in case you weren’t busy.”

“Yeah, I was planning on meeting him sometime this weekend,” Taeyong says, trying to sound offhand. “But not all weekend.”

“Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” Jaehyun says. “I just ordered pizza and stuff, so it should be here soon. Do you play games?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong says, waiting while Jaehyun unlocks his door. “I do. What do you have?”

“I’m playing a lot of Overwatch right now,” Jaehyun says, shutting and locking the door behind them. “Who do you main?”

“Hanzo or McCree, usually,” Taeyong says, setting his bag down. 

“Want something to drink? I have soju and beer.” Jaehyun is rummaging around in his fridge. “And I main Hanzo, so you get McCree.”

“Beer, please. And that’s fine with me.” Taeyong plops down on the couch, picking up the PS4 controllers on the table. “How do you have soju and beer? You’re underage.”

“Johnny,” Jaehyun replies. “He’s so chill. Uh, I’ll bring one for now, but there’s more in the fridge if you want it.”

Jaehyun closes the fridge door with his hip and brings a beer for Taeyong, and a bottle of plain soju for himself. Taeyong offers him one of the controllers, and Jaehyun sets up the game. 

They’re only playing for about ten minutes when Jaehyun’s phone buzzes violently on the table. “That’s the food!” He pauses the game, and points at Taeyong’s nearly-empty beer. “Go get another one if you want. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Taeyong finishes the bottle as Jaehyun dashes out the door, and eyes the fridge. He probably shouldn’t—he’s a notorious lightweight—but he’ll have food to dampen it, so he gets up, placing the empty bottle on the counter, and grabs a new one from the door of the fridge. 

He’s just popped it open and sat back down on the couch when Jaehyun returns, balancing a precarious stack of boxes in one hand. “Need help?” Taeyong asks.

“No, I’ve got it.” Jaehyun eases the door shut and then shuffles to his table, putting the boxes down. “Want any?”

“Not right now, I already ate,” Taeyong says. “Probably later, though. Thank you.”

Jaehyun eats while Taeyong takes the opportunity to switch to Hanzo and play a few rounds without him. Jaehyun shouts out commentary behind him, and Taeyong finds himself laughing. His heart still aches, but it’s nice to put it aside for a little while and have some fun.

About halfway through his second bottle, he gives up on games altogether, having completely lost his hand-eye coordination. Jaehyun laughs at him and calls him a lightweight, and Taeyong just shrugs, leaning on his shoulder and watching him play for a while. Eventually, Jaehyun gives up, too, and switches to a random show on Netflix. 

Jaehyun’s definitely drunk, but Taeyong’s drunker, and neither of them can really focus on the show. They end up talking instead, the TV fading to comforting background noise.

“You know, I thought you’d never come over,” Jaehyun says.

“Why’s that?” Taeyong asks.

“I dunno, you seemed shy.”

“You only invited me like once or twice. I just happened to be busy!” Taeyong defends.

“Well, you turned down a lot of my other invitations, like going out for drinks or dinner or whatever, so I thought maybe you didn’t want to hang out with me,” Jaehyun replies.

“I was busy,” Taeyong repeats.

“That’s what everyone says when they just don’t wanna do something,” Jaehyun points out.

“Well, I promise, I did genuinely have stuff going on.” Taeyong aims to put his hand on Jaehyun’s shoulder in an attempt at expressing his sincerity, but he misses and his hand lands on Jaehyun’s thigh instead. _Whatever_. “I have not been avoiding you for no reason.”

“Well, it hurt my feelings,” Jaehyun says playfully.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Taeyong says, fully aware that he’s slurring. “How can I make it up to you?”

“You are, right now.” Jaehyun hasn’t moved Taeyong’s hand. He leans in a little. “And I dunno, you can come over more often? That would be a great start.”

“Okay,” Taeyong agrees. “What else?”

“Depends on what you’re okay with.” 

Taeyong arches an eyebrow. “Why, what d’you have in mind?”

They’re so close their noses are almost touching. “I think you know,” Jaehyun replies, and Taeyong thinks _fuck it_ and kisses him.

There’s an alarm blaring in the back of his head that screams STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT but he ignores it, kissing deeper, moving closer still. Jaehyun pulls him into his lap and Taeyong clings to his shoulders. Jaehyun’s hands feel good on his waist, solid and secure. Taeyong knows it’s a bad idea, knows it’s not fair to Jaehyun, knows it’s stupid and it’s going to hurt him later, but he’s drunk and he’s sad and Jaehyun is _right here_ , offering comfort, and Taeyong is too weak not to take it. Jaehyun is moaning, quiet and low, and even though Taeyong doesn’t really want him, has never really wanted him, he’s not stupid. He sounds good, and that’s enough.

But then Jaehyun is pushing him away, holding his face, voice panicked—“Taeyong, Taeyong, wait—” which is _not_ what Taeyong wants at all. _Why’d he stop?_ Taeyong is working his way towards feeling hurt, trying to bat his hands away so they can go back to making out.

“Jae,” he complains softly.

“Oh my god, Taeyong, you’re _crying_ ,” Jaehyun says, sounding scared, and Taeyong blinks and realizes he _is_ —chest heaving, hot tears streaming down his face.

He scrambles off of Jaehyun’s lap, back to the other side of the couch, catching his tears with his palms. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know—I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jaehyun says, running a hand through his hair. “Um, are you okay? Do you wanna talk about it?”

Taeyong just shakes his head, too tired and drunk to try to lie. “No,” he whispers. “And no, I don’t.”

“Okay.” Jaehyun sounds lost. “Um, well, we’re both… kinda drunk, so maybe we should just… go to bed.”

“Okay,” Taeyong agrees.

“Uh, I have some extra blankets and stuff if you wanna crash on the couch.” He stands, collecting the empty bottles and heading down the hall to his bedroom. He reappears with a couple of blankets and an extra pillow. “Do you—do you think you’re gonna throw up?”

Taeyong shakes his head. “If I go to sleep now, I think I’ll be fine.”

“Uh, okay.” Jaehyun hovers awkwardly for a minute. “Then—goodnight.”

Exhausted from crying, from the alcohol, and from everything that’s happened today, Taeyong falls asleep quickly, before the spins can even kick in.

~ * ~

He wakes the next morning with a raging headache, but luckily no nausea. He supposes he has his lack of hydration and the pizza he ate, respectively, to thank. He hears the water running in Jaehyun’s bathroom, and he sits up slowly, groaning.

Unfortunately, he remembers everything. He drops his head to his hands. _You fucking idiot,_ he thinks to himself. _If you’re gonna do something stupid like that, at least don’t do it with one of your only friends. Or are you just determined to end up alone?_

The water stops, and Taeyong swallows the bubble of anxiety trapped in his throat. Sighing, he throws off the blankets and half walks, half staggers into the kitchen to get himself some water. 

Jaehyun emerges a few minutes later in a t-shirt and shorts, hair still wet, and gives Taeyong an awkward half wave, holding up a bottle of Advil. “Do you want some?”

“Please,” Taeyong says gratefully. Jaehyun comes over to set it on the counter beside him. “Jaehyun,” Taeyong says, cringing as he shakes a couple of pills out. “I’m really sorry about last night. It was really irresponsible and cruel of me. The thing is—I don’t—I don’t like you like that. I should’ve—I should’ve made that clearer sooner, I just didn’t know how.”

“It’s fine,” Jaehyun mutters quietly. “I had kind of figured at this point, but then you said you’d come over, and we got drunk, and it—it was just a mess.”

“I really wanna stay friends with you,” Taeyong says. “Because you’re really cool, and you’re really funny. And I want—I want you to know it has nothing to do with you. You’re a really amazing person, and I know this doesn’t help, but you’re _really_ handsome, and you’re very kind, and you deserve someone who can like you back. And that’s just—that’s not me.”

Jaehyun nods, smiling a little. “At least you were nice about it,” he says, knocking his shoulder gently against Taeyong’s.

“You know, I think that guy who’s interning for the choreographers—what’s his name, Sicheng?—that Johnny brought out with you guys a couple weekends ago, I think he might be interested in you,” Taeyong says, relieved that Jaehyun isn’t angry. “I’m just saying.”

Jaehyun laughs. “Maybe I should just cool it for a little bit,” he replies. “But thanks. Uh, do you want breakfast?”

“No, that’s okay,” Taeyong replies. “Thank you for the Advil. I really should be going, though. I’m behind on my work. I can pick something up on my way home.”

“Okay,” Jaehyun says. He sounds dubious, but he doesn’t argue. “See you Monday?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong says, slipping his shoes on and grabbing his bag. “See you!”

He feels a little better when he’s out in the fresh air. He stops at a bakery to pick up a coffee and a muffin, and then takes the bus back to his apartment. It’s empty and cold and strange—he’s barely spent any of his weekends here, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. _Better get used to it_ , he thinks to himself grimly as he heats up water for tea and pulls out his work. _This is the rest of your summer._

It’s fine, really—he gets some good work done, and it distracts him from thinking about Yuta for a little while. But as the day turns from afternoon to evening, and his work is all wrapped up, Taeyong finds himself miserable again. He doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, but he doesn’t really want to call up any of his friends or fellow interns, either, seeing how poorly that went yesterday.

Really, he should just stay in, maybe order takeout and watch a movie and then go to bed—but Taeyong is notoriously self-destructive, and also just a little bit stupid, so he changes from his sweats into jeans, puts on some makeup, and heads out.

He chooses a club that’s as close as possible to his place so it isn’t too hard for him to get home later, and orders a drink. He mostly just wanted to sit at the bar and be around other people, but then a pretty guy slides into the seat next to him and flashes him a charming smile. He’s a little older than Taeyong, but not by much, and he has beautiful skin and gorgeous hands. He offers to buy Taeyong a drink.

“Thank you,” Taeyong says, not one to refuse free anything, and they chat while the bartender is making their drinks.

“You from around here?” the guy asks. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“No,” Taeyong replies, sipping at the last drops of his first drink. “I’m just here for the summer.”

“And you’re here all alone? That’s a little sad.” The guy pouts cutely at him.

“Well, I’m not alone anymore, am I?” Taeyong replies, and the guy laughs.

“No, I suppose you’re not,” he agrees, sliding Taeyong’s new drink to him when the bartender sets it down in front of him. 

Taeyong knows it’s a bad idea, but he finishes this drink and lets the guy order them shots, too. He’s not feeling too bad until he stands, and the room almost slips out from under his feet. Still, he lets the guy pull him out onto the dance floor even though he can hardly see. _This is what I’m supposed to be doing, right?_ he thinks blearily. _This is the set of bad decisions I’m supposed to be making._

But he can’t really shake his discomfort, even though the heavy fog of alcohol. So when a song ends, he peels himself away, muttering about having to use the bathroom. The guy tries to follow, asking if he needs someone to come with, but Taeyong manages to shake him off, ducking and weaving through the crowds of people until he finds himself safe in a stall, staring at the floor and begging it to stop spinning.

There’s no way he can walk home like this, or even take a taxi or the bus. He’s absolutely trashed, and it’s all his fault. He can’t call any of his friends, either, because they probably won’t be able to help—and even if they can, it would be a wild inconvenience. He scrolls through his contacts in his phone, desperately trying to focus enough to be able to read. His eyes land on a name. _Nakamoto Yuta._

Tears spring to his eyes immediately. It’s literally his only option—he’s sure the guy here means no harm, but he’s _scared_ and he’s drunk and he doesn’t know what to do, and though the thought of Yuta hurts worse than anything, it’s also comforting. At least with Yuta, he’d be safe. 

So he calls him.

Yuta picks up on the first ring, and Taeyong finds himself sobbing with relief. “Taeyong,” Yuta says, voice rough from sleep and very concerned. “Do you know what time it is?”

“N-no, ‘m so sorry,” Taeyong replies, clutching his phone with both hands. “I made a—a really big mistake, and now I d-don’t know what to do.”

“Where are you? Are you okay?” Taeyong hears rustling in the background, and imagines Yuta wrenching himself from his bed and feeling around for the light.

“I-I’m gonna send you my location, hold on.” Taeyong takes the phone away from his ear and navigates to their text chain to do it. “Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it. I’ll come get you, okay? Just stay put.”

“I’m so stupid, daddy,” Taeyong slurs, a fresh wave of tears cresting over his waterline.

“What’s going on?” Yuta asks, a little muffled. Taeyong hears the jingling of his keys.

_What’s going on? Is he stupid, too?_ Taeyong wonders to himself. “Went out ’n’ got way too drunk,” he begins instead, “’n’ now there’s this guy, and n-normally, it would be fine, but I’m—I’m _so_ drunk, daddy, and I dunno what he wants from me, and I—I don’t want him. I want—” But even now, he can’t let himself say it. It’s not right. “Fuck, daddy, I’m so sorry, it’s so late, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it’s okay, baby,” Yuta says, and Taeyong sags against the wall. _It’s okay, baby_. “Just stay on the phone with me, okay? Can you do that?”

“Mm-hm, yes,” Taeyong agrees. “Yes, I can do that.”

“Good, okay.” Taeyong hears rumbling, and realizes Yuta is driving. “Just stay on the phone until I get there. I’m about fifteen minutes away, okay?”

“Okay,” Taeyong whispers, closing his eyes. He knows he’s blacking out, but it’s okay, because Yuta will be here soon, and he’ll take care of him. 

Yuta keeps him awake by asking him about his day, making him tell in detail what he did and where he went and what he ate. And soon, he hears the familiar pounding of the music in his ear, and then the door of the bathroom swings open, and he hears Yuta say, “Taeyong?”

Taeyong hangs up the call clumsily, unlatching the stall door and stumbling straight into Yuta’s arms. “Daddy,” he mumbles.

“I’ve got you,” Yuta murmurs, slinging one of Taeyong’s arms over his shoulder and supporting him with a hand on his waist. 

Taeyong buries his face in Yuta’s shoulder and lets him guide him out the door and into the cool night air. “I’m sorry,” he says, over and over. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, honey,” Yuta says, buckling him into the passenger seat of the car and placing a plastic bag in his hand. “I’m glad you called me. I’d rather you call me in the middle of the night than get hurt.”

Taeyong groans when the car starts, feeling his stomach lurch unpleasantly.

Yuta rests a hand on his knee as he pulls out into the street, thumb stroking over his bare skin where his jeans are ripped. “We’ll be home soon,” he says. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“I know,” Taeyong says, just above a whisper, resting his forehead against the cold glass of the window and letting the feeling of Yuta’s fingers soothe him. “I’m with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!! come say hey on [tumblr](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about)! we have lots of fun discussing guys my age; you can read a sort of bonus drabble [here](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/post/638996163283058688/what-pics-would-gma-yuta-send-to-taeyong-d)! we were on the subject of thirst-trap selfies.... hehe!


	8. (you look like a million dollar man) so why is my heart broke?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stick around at the end for notes on language + love!!! I had fun with it.

Taeyong wakes early in the morning and lurches unsteadily out of bed. Yuta stirs beside him, and follows as he staggers into the bathroom and hurls up bile into the toilet. Yuta pets his hair, running a hand down his back, and sits by him until his breathing slows. 

“How about a shower?’ Yuta says, standing. 

Taeyong nods wordlessly, too overwhelmed by how fucking awful he feels to reply, let alone feel any anxiety or awkwardness. He rests his forehead against the cool seat of the toilet for a moment before clumsily peeling himself off the floor. He remembers fragments of the night before—stumbling off towards the bathroom, sitting in the stall with his head in his hands, scrolling by Yuta’s name in his contacts—but that’s about it. Clearly, he called him and Yuta came to pick him up, which is how he ended up back at Yuta’s house.

Yuta helps him into the shower. “Can I leave you alone for a bit, or do you need me to stay?”

Taeyong shakes his head groggily. “No, I’ll be okay.”

“Okay.” Yuta steps back. “I’m gonna go heat up some water and put together a little breakfast. Come downstairs when you’re ready. You know where to find clean clothes.”

Taeyong takes his time showering. He has to pop in and out a couple of times to throw up again, but luckily the toilet is close to the shower, and the floor is tile, so there’s no harm done. By the time he’s done showering, he’s feeling a little better—still nauseous, but the pulse is more manageable now. 

He pulls one of Yuta’s old t-shirts over his head and finds a pair of sweatpants, and then wanders downstairs, towards the enticing smell of eggs and bacon.

Yuta has a plate of thick-sliced bacon and scrambled eggs waiting for him on the table next to a big mug of coffee. He clicks off the stove as Taeyong shuffles across the floor to the table, completing a plate for himself. He stays at the counter, though, leaning over awkwardly to take a bite.

“Well,” Yuta says, once Taeyong’s gotten a little food in his body. “I suppose we should talk about it. Let’s make a deal. I’ll actually listen to you this time, and you won’t shut down on me the instant I say something you don’t like. Okay?”

Taeyong’s lips curl into a half-smile. “Deal,” he replies, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Okay.” Yuta sets down his fork. “Here’s my side of it. I feel like I’ve inadvertently taken over your life. I’ve had my youth and my fun. I know that. And now I feel like I’m stealing _your_ youth to relive mine. And that’s something I don’t know I’ll be able to sit with.”

Taeyong nods slowly, though sadness swells in his chest. “You’re not stealing anything from me, though,” he says, keeping his tone gentle. “I have fun when I’m with you. And sure, maybe I ’should’ be going out and getting drunk with my friends over the weekend, or staying up too late playing games or whatever, but…” He trails off, thinking. “I do enough of that when I’m at school, you know. I’m choosing _this_ , Yuta, because it’s different and I like it. I like being around you.”

“I guess it just comes from a place of worry that I—like, took advantage of you, or coerced you into it.” Yuta tilts his head. 

“I’m telling you, you didn’t. You didn’t force me or trick me or whatever else you can come up with,” Taeyong replies. “I chose to be here. Do you know how many times I could’ve said no, and I didn’t? I thought about it, and I didn’t. Because I like you a lot. Okay?”

“How do I know for sure that’s true, though?” Yuta frets. “If I tricked you, then how would you know?”

“If you tricked me, then you’re supposed to know,” Taeyong points out. “Yuta, you know it’s true because I’m _telling_ you. Don’t take my agency away just because I’m younger than you.”

Yuta is silent for a moment, and then just grins, shaking his head and stabbing another piece of bacon. “That was very well-put, which I think proves your point twice over. But Taeyong, you’re not just a little younger than me. You’re barely twenty, and my forty-first birthday is this October. It’s not an insignificant difference.”

“Yeah, and thank goodness,” Taeyong says, dry. “I like you the way you are.”

“I like you the way you are, too,” Yuta admits, “and I think that’s the whole problem. At the beginning there, we were both just in it for the sex and the company, and it was fine. We are just having fun. But now…” he spreads his hands, gesturing around the room. “I care about you, Taeyong. A lot, clearly. I was so fucking worried when you called last night; you have no idea. And that—that wasn’t supposed to happen.” He sighs. “You know how you asked me the other night if it was because I didn’t want you anymore? I hope you know that isn’t the case at all. Of course I want you.”

Taeyong’s heart feels like it’s twisting up in his chest. He’s so fond of the man standing a few meters away from him that it hurts. And Yuta’s right. That was never supposed to happen. “I know,” he says. “I know you’re just trying to protect me. But you don’t have to, not with this.”

“So,” Yuta says. “We’ll just keep seeing each other then?” Taeyong nods. “What happens at the end of the summer?”

“It’s like how you said from the start,” Taeyong replies. “We’ll just have to see where it goes, and let it run its course because that’s all we _can_ do. I’m okay with the uncertainty, and just knowing that right now, this is good. I like it, and I like _you_ , and that’s enough.”

“Okay,” Yuta agrees. 

“Come sit down,” Taeyong says, jerking his head to the seat across from him and then immediately regretting it; pain reverberates in his skull. “You’re making me nervous.”

Yuta smiles, picking up his plate and mug and padding softly across the kitchen to slide into the chair. “You feeling better?”

“A little,” Taeyong says. “The food helped. So did puking.”

Yuta gives a short chuckle. “Good,” he says, and then his expression turns serious. “I did mean what I said, though. I was _very_ worried about you when you called. What you did was really dangerous, Taeyong. You could be suffering consequences a lot worse right now than a headache and an upset stomach.”

“I know.” Taeyong drops his gaze to his hands. “I know. I knew I shouldn’t have gone out, or gotten drunk, especially not after what happened Friday, but…”

“What happened Friday?” Yuta asks.

_Oh, fuck. You fucking idiot._ “Um,” he says, clearing his throat. “I went to—I went to Jaehyun’s. It’s not—he just happened to invite me, so I went. And we got a little drunk, and we kissed. I just—I thought, since you’d ended things, it was fine, but obviously I don’t like him, you know, so—” Taeyong realizes he’s rambling and takes a breath. “We didn’t do anything else. We stopped right away.”

“I’m not angry with you, Taeyong,” Yuta says, raising a hand to stop him. “Just concerned. Are you two okay?”

“What, me and Jaehyun?” Yuta nods. “Oh. Um, yeah. I apologized. We should be fine.” Taeyong squeezes his hands together. _Stupid, selfish, cruel_ , he thinks. “I _am_ really sorry. For everything.”

Yuta shakes his head, standing and collecting their empty dishes. “I’m sorry, too.” He bends down and kisses Taeyong on the forehead, lingering there for a moment with his lips pressed to his hairline. Taeyong closes his eyes, humming happily in the back of his throat. “I don’t know about you, but I’m still tired,” Yuta continues as he straightens and walks over to the sink. “Do you wanna come nap with me?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong agrees.

As they head back up the stairs, it occurs to Taeyong that Yuta may only be taking him back because he worries what he’ll do if he doesn’t, or because he feels trapped and doesn’t know what else to do. His heart sinks, but he’s too tired and his head hurts too much to say anything about it.

There’s no sign of coldness, though. If anything, Yuta’s sweeter to him than ever. Maybe it’s just that they’re both sleepy and he knows Taeyong is in a lot of physical pain, but he tucks Taeyong in and then cuddles close after closing the blinds. He wraps his arms around Taeyong, lacing their fingers together, sturdy chest against his back. Taeyong can feel his heartbeat against his spine. He presses kisses to his hair, breathing slow and steady.

Tears spring to Taeyong’s eyes. _This wasn’t supposed to happen_ , he thinks. _I wasn’t supposed to like you this much._ But there’s nothing for it now. Taeyong relaxes into the pillow, leaning back against Yuta. Maybe Yuta _is_ ruining his life. But somehow, Taeyong’s kind of okay with it. It’s alright, if it’s by Yuta’s hands.

~ * ~

When Taeyong wakes, he’s curled against Yuta’s side, and Yuta’s splayed on his back, snoring softly, one arm draped over Taeyong’s shoulders. Taeyong pops his head up and sees it’s a little past two. 

Taeyong shifts his gaze to Yuta, smiling a little. His roots have grown in just a little, so his blonde hair almost looks like a halo where it rests on the pillow. Relaxed like this, there’s no hint of the fine lines that are now just making themselves visible around his mouth and eyes. A weird feeling of grief swells in Taeyong for just a moment—the things they could have if Yuta was twenty years younger, or even just ten!—but it subsides quickly. Taeyong can’t really bring himself to mind all that much. There’s something about Yuta, the way he is now, to Taeyong, the way _he_ is now, that makes him perfect.

Yuta stirs, blinking his eyes open and finding Taeyong’s almost immediately. “How long have you been staring at me?” he whispers, grinning.

“Just a couple minutes,” Taeyong replies. “Can you blame me?”

“No, I suppose not,” Yuta says with a hushed laugh, raising a hand to brush back some of Taeyong’s hair. “C’mere.”

Taeyong leans down over him, and Yuta kisses him, slow and deep. Taeyong whines; he realizes that even in the short time they’ve been apart, he missed Yuta’s kisses. Yuta’s hand is still in his hair, holding him steady. Unlike the way they normally are when they make out, this isn’t fierce. It’s like Yuta’s trying to take his time with it, breaking Taeyong down little by little until he’s perfectly pliable in his hands. It’s strange and vulnerable, but Taeyong isn’t uncomfortable in the slightest. It’s warm and good and safe.

Yuta rolls them over slowly, pushing Taeyong onto his back, straddling his thighs with his knees, bent over with both hands cupping Taeyong’s jaw. Taeyong anchors his hands on Yuta’s biceps as Yuta licks into his mouth, slow and dirty and perfect. 

When Yuta pulls back, breaking contact, Taeyong is surprised to find himself breathless. His head feels foggy, his eyelids heavy. “Yuta,” he murmurs, and Yuta smiles.

“I know you like when you’re treated rough,” he says. “And I like it, too. But has anyone ever just taken care of you before?” Taeyong shakes his head. “Sounds too vanilla, right?” Yuta asks, and Taeyong giggles. “Will you let me show you anyway? If you hate it, we can stop.”

“I don’t think I could hate anything you do,” Taeyong says honestly. “Show me, daddy.”

Yuta bends down and kisses the point of Taeyong’s jaw, right next to his ear. “Alright,” he says as he draws away. “Arms up, please.” Taeyong obeys, and Yuta helps him out of his t-shirt, rewarding him with a kiss on the nose once it’s out of the way. “You’re so pretty, baby,” Yuta says, running his hands down Taeyong’s sides, just light enough for it to tickle a little. He bends over him, kissing down his chest and his tummy, nipping gently at the soft skin, and then licking and kissing over the spots to soothe the pain, again and again on his journey downwards. 

It’s not that they’re in love—Taeyong has his head screwed on correctly enough to distinguish that—but something is there. One layer of the barrier between them has fallen away, their care and reverence for one another unmasked. It’s alright if it doesn’t last; all that matters is that they know it _now_ , and don’t shy from it. 

The word for love in both Korean and Japanese is derived from the same word in Chinese, pronounced _ai_. Originally, in ancient times, this word didn’t mean love, and was not used in the way it’s used today. The word _ai_ referred instead to a strong connection, or the unwillingness to give something up. _In a way, isn’t that what we are?_ Taeyong muses to himself as he basks in the feeling of Yuta’s lips on his skin. The room is still and quiet and dark; thin rays of sunlight sneak in through the cracks in the curtains. _Here I am, a stupid boy clinging to the man he can’t stand not to have by his side_. _Here’s Yuta, covering the boy he can’t bear to be apart from with a thousand invisible imprints, claiming him as his. It’s not love; it’s the ancient_ ai _; a bond difficult to form and all the more difficult to sever._

Yuta’s working Taeyong’s underwear off his waist, kissing the points of his hip bones. He pops his head up briefly. “Can you grab the lube for me, baby?” Taeyong nods, reaching back and fumbling around blindly in the drawer of the bedside table until his fingers brush over the bottle. He almost drops it when Yuta wraps his hand around his cock, stroking a few times before adding his mouth, hollowing his cheeks slightly.

“Daddy,” Taeyong breathes out, settling the lube to the side on the mattress and bringing his hand to Yuta’s hair, carding his fingers through it. Yuta just hums softly in response. Taeyong watches him through half-lidded eyes, blinking lethargically. He sees Yuta shifting back and forth a little, and realizes he’s palming himself through his sweats as he sucks Taeyong off. Taeyong loves it when Yuta gets needy, and a little selfish in his need. He feels heavy; his spine throbs with his anticipation and his desire. It’s slow, though, not desperate like he normally is. He’s in good hands.

Yuta’s tongue swirls around the head of his cock, and Taeyong moans softly, stiffening and pressing the back of his head into the pillow. He’s not sure why everything is happening so quietly—it’s not like they need to be, and it’s not like Taeyong is stifling himself on purpose. It’s just that where Taeyong is normally gasping, he’s sighing; his moans come out whispered. Yuta’s touch is light and grounding, fingers replacing his lips when he pulls off Taeyong’s cock so he can start working him open. 

He catches Taeyong’s eye as he sits back on his heels to lube up his fingers, and smiles. “You look comfy,” he says.

“Mm,” Taeyong hums in affirmation. He rubs one of his eyes. “You always make me feel good.”

“Good,” Yuta replies, bending over once more, petting over Taeyong’s entrance a few times before pressing his finger in. He shuffles closer, spreading Taeyong’s legs so they’re out of the way. He plants his free hand on the mattress next to Taeyong’s ribcage, and then carefully moves down to his elbow, hooking his forearm under Taeyong’s outstretched bicep. They’re just close enough that he can press his lips to Taeyong’s, and he kisses him thoroughly as he opens him up. There’s almost no pain, and Taeyong feels a bubble of pleasure grow and grow in his chest as Yuta moves, steady and patient.

He adds a second finger, abandoning Taeyong’s lips for his neck. He doesn’t mark him up like he normally likes to; instead, he buries his face there, right where Taeyong’s shoulder blends into his throat, cheekbone resting perfectly in the hollow of Taeyong’s clavicle, like two puzzle pieces. His lips work gently against Taeyong’s skin, his cheek warm and comforting. His hair tickles Taeyong’s chin a little, but he doesn’t mind. He can feel Yuta’s cock, hard against his pelvis, fabric of his pants a little damp from precome now. The position might look a little strange from outside view, but—well, no one is looking. It’s nice, being this close, and it’s comfortable. Taeyong cradles Yuta’s head in the opposite hand, thumb smoothing the hair on his temple almost absently. 

They haven’t started really fucking yet—Taeyong isn’t sure what the right word is. He supposes this is where the turn of phrase _making love_ comes from—the physical act of desire mixed with a manifestation of affection. Either way, Taeyong already understands what Yuta meant—to have someone take care of him. He feels _held_ ; Yuta has engulfed him in a tenderness that is both soothing and raw.

Yuta presses closer, still lazily kissing over his skin, shifting a little so he doesn’t irritate one spot by attending to it too long. He adds a third finger, curling them all carefully until he brushes Taeyong’s prostate. Taeyong lets out a small whimper. “Again,” he begs. “Please.”

Yuta makes a noise of recognition and pushes himself up a little so he has more leverage. He ducks his head down and closes his lips over one of Taeyong’s nipples. Taeyong moans, almost overwhelmed with how fucking _good_ it feels—Yuta strokes over his prostate again and he shivers, though his body is flushed red from arousal. True to his word, Yuta stays gentle. Not once has he hurt Taeyong; normally by now there would be the mildest of burns, and Taeyong would be relishing it. But everything he feels is sweet. He never really considered he’d like it at all, but he _loves_ it, even though his patience is wearing thin.

But, of course, Yuta knows his body, and after a few more minutes of milking Taeyong’s prostate, he withdraws his fingers and moves to take his pants off so he can prep his cock, shushing Taeyong when he whines. “I know, daddy’s so awful for taking his fingers away,” Yuta soothes, a hint of humor underneath his words. “Just a second, honey.”

Taeyong doesn’t have long to wait. A few seconds later, he feels the head of Yuta’s cock pressed flush with his hole. Yuta pushes in slowly, watching Taeyong for signs of discomfort all the way. He rolls his hips fluidly, and Taeyong reaches out to him, moaning softly when he hits his prostate just right. Yuta grunts softly when Taeyong clenches around him.

He leans over Taeyong, knocking their foreheads together. Yuta’s moving so slow, he can feel his cock pulsing inside him. “God, you’re so beautiful, babydoll,” Yuta says. It goes straight to Taeyong’s head; he’s dizzy, drunk on lust and pride. “I said I’d take care of you, but I couldn’t help touching myself while I did it. Seeing you like this—you have no idea. You’re _perfect_.”

“You were gonna give me up,” Taeyong pouts, and Yuta groans, real pain woven into the noise.

“I know,” he admits. “I don’t know how I could be so stupid.”

His thrusts are longer and faster now; Taeyong can feel himself leaking against his stomach, warm and messy. “You left me all alone,” he accuses.

“I know,” Yuta repeats. “I’m so horrible, aren’t I? I thought I could do it. My sweet little boy wouldn’t let me, though.”

“Mm-mm,” Taeyong says firmly. 

“Won’t do it again,” Yuta promises, sealing it with a kiss. 

Taeyong curls his fingers in Yuta’s hair, moaning soft breaths into his mouth as he fucks him deep and measured. He looks up at Yuta; the roots of his hair grown in, dark black betrayal. Taeyong knows his hair is the same way, cerulean washed out to a faded forget-me-not blue. An imperfect man and an imperfect boy, museum be damned. Still a matched set. Still pretty; crackled marble and porcelain.

Taeyong lets out little needy noises with every thrust in—he can’t really help it; Yuta has unraveled him with his fingers and his tongue, and all that’s left is a limp puddle of limbs beneath him on the mattress. It only washes him deeper into this safe, rose-tinted headspace. _Yuta, Yuta, Yuta,_ he thinks. _Daddy, daddy._

He’s not surprised when he feels himself getting close. Yuta’s strung him out for close to an hour now, and though he’s enjoyed it, he wants to come. “Daddy,” he says, unable to stop himself from giving Yuta a kiss every few words. “I’m—I need—I’m gonna come, please—will you help me?”

“Oh, good.” Yuta’s voice is husky and dark. “I’m close, too.” He wraps his hand around Taeyong’s cock, tugging languidly. “Oh, you’re so wet, honey. _Fuck_ , you’re so hot.” Taeyong just keens and bucks his hips up into Yuta’s fist. 

“Gonna come for daddy,” he says, breath shuddering though his voice is determined. 

Yuta smiles against his lips. “Then—mm—then come, baby,” he says, and Taeyong _does_ , letting the pleasure wrack his body as it washes over him. Yuta catches as much of his come as he can in his hand, and when Taeyong’s finished, he brings his dirty hand up between their mouths. 

Taeyong sucks on his fingers, helping him clean up, making his eyes big and sweet and doll-like. It does the trick; Yuta moans, panting into his own palm as he comes, still keeping the same slow and steady rhythm even as he continues to fill Taeyong up.

His panting turns to soft laughter, which has Taeyong laughing too as he pulls off Yuta’s last finger with a loud pop. 

“Even when we’re supposed to be doing something vanilla, we manage to be gross,” Yuta says, not sounding the least bit sorry about it. “C’mon, let go of me so we can start our evening.”

“Or we could just… go back to sleep,” Taeyong suggests, giggling again when Yuta gives him a warning glance.

“What, like this? I think I’d suffocate you,” he says. “No, we need to get cleaned up so I can drive you home.”

For some reason, this sends a spike of panic through Taeyong. “But it’s still early.”

“After dinner, then,” Yuta amends, pushing himself up and pulling out. Taeyong scoots to the edge of the bed gingerly so he doesn’t make a mess. “Don’t worry,” he adds as he takes Taeyong’s hand, kissing his knuckles. “You’ll see me again soon.”

_Not soon enough,_ Taeyong thinks, but he doesn’t say anything. Yuta starts the water for their bath while Taeyong fetches some clean towels. Yuta folds him into his chest as they wait for the tub to fill, humming an unfamiliar tune in Taeyong’s ear, arm wrapped tight around his chest. They sway a little to a nonexistent rhythm; Taeyong closes his eyes. Yuta helps him into the tub, and then follows, sitting behind Taeyong so he can lean back against his chest.

“So?” Yuta says after they’ve tired of washing. “What did you think?”

“It was nice,” Taeyong replies honestly. “I felt—safe. Everything felt so good.” He takes one of Yuta’s hands in his, turning it palm-up, and traces the lines with his finger. “I’m still a terrible little painslut,” he adds with a giggle. “But I wouldn’t mind a repeat of that, from time to time.”

“Okay,” Yuta says, kissing the nape of Taeyong’s neck. They’re quiet again.

“Did I throw up on you last night?” Taeyong asks abruptly, and Yuta laughs.

“No, though there were some near misses, I have to say,” he replies, and the laughter dies in his voice as he adds, “I was really worried, Taeyong. There were a couple of hours there where you weren’t asleep, but you weren’t really responding to me at all. I thought—” He stops, exhaling slowly.

“What?” Taeyong asks, voice small.

“I thought for a minute there that I had lost you,” Yuta whispers, and Taeyong closes his eyes, overcome with remorse. “I didn’t know what to do. I’m forty, Taeyong, I grew up when drug and alcohol use was rampant and insane. I’ve seen everything. I’ve sat, drunk, with drunker friends as they vomit up their stomachs for hours; I’ve called an ambulance for a friend who’d overdosed. But last night—I didn’t know what to do. Baby, I was _scared_. And just when I was about to start panicking for real, I reached for your cheek and you turned and kissed my palm. It was a little gross because you were covered in vomit, but I didn’t care. You kept saying, ‘Thank you, I’m sorry.’ It’s all you said until you finally fell asleep.”

Taeyong twists around so he can look Yuta in the eye. “I—” he stammers. “I’m _sorry_ , I really am. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.” He leans in for a kiss, and Yuta accepts it, though his mouth is turned downward in sadness. “I’m serious, I’m sorry. I learned my lesson, okay? I’ll never be that stupid again.”

“You better not,” Yuta says. Taeyong thinks it’s meant to come off as threatening, but his relief makes it impossible.

“Thank you for coming to rescue me,” Taeyong says, and Yuta chuckles softly in the back of his throat.

“It’s like I said.” He curls his finger’s around Taeyong’s, his body around Taeyong’s body; he hooks his chin over Taeyong’s shoulder. “I’m taking care of you.”

~ * ~

Taeyong helps Yuta clean up after dinner, and then they make their way to Yuta’s car. They chat about nothing as Yuta drives them back towards the city. The sun is just beginning to set, and it paints the buildings a beautiful, glittering orange. The world doesn’t quite seem real. As they near Taeyong’s neighborhood, though, Yuta takes a left instead of a right, and pulls into a little shopping center. 

“Stay here,” he says, putting the car in park and turning off the ignition. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

Baffled, Taeyong does as he’s told, watching curiously as Yuta disappears into a shop that he can’t read the name of. He picks at his nails as he waits, watching the moon rise in the dying light.

Yuta reemerges a few minutes later holding a bouquet of pink roses. They’re young and fresh, the bright pink accented with a little green. He climbs back into the car, passing the bouquet over to Taeyong as he starts the engine back up. “For you,” he says. “Put them in water when you get home. They won’t even be wilted by the end of this week, when you’ll see me again.”

Taeyong doesn’t know what to say. The anticipation of his anxiety and the subtle gift to help soothe it is so sweet, it overpowers even the scent of the flowers in his hands. He looks over at Yuta, trying to form one coherent sentence. “Thank you,” he manages. “I love them.”

In ancient Chinese, _ai_ , the modern word for love, did not mean love. Instead, the closest word they had was _zhi,_ the one that meant _to know_. The act of knowing was one considered so valuable, so rare, and so sacred that it was a debt thought to only be payable by giving one’s life, either through devotion or sacrifice. It was much more important than the act of care, much more intimate than enacting desire. 

Here Taeyong is, cradling the proof of Yuta’s _knowing_ in his arms; a bouquet, fragile and resilient at the same time—stems soft and supple, each petal a confession. _I know you_ , Yuta is saying. _I know you._ It’s terrible and wonderful at the same time.

Taeyong kisses Yuta goodbye, clumsily getting out of the car, too focused on protecting his flowers. When he gets inside his apartment, he finds an empty wine bottle, and cleans it out, filling it with water. He adds the packet of flower food the bouquet came with, cutting the stems of the roses a little so they have more surface area to absorb the nutrients. He arranges them carefully in the bottle and then steps back.

And then suddenly, he’s crumpling with the force of his tears. He sits hard on the floor and scoots back so he has the support of the wall, burying his face in his knees. He’s not quite sure what it’s even about. Maybe it’s just that it’s been a long and harrowing weekend; maybe it’s just that he’s tired. Maybe it’s that August is coming soon, and with it looms their inevitable separation.

Or maybe it’s just that Taeyong feels so wholly cared for, he doesn’t know what to do with it. He looks back up at the roses, the sweet pinkness of the blooms. He thinks of the way Yuta bought them in hopes that Taeyong would think of him during the week and smile; the way they were a promise that what happened this weekend—this horrible, confusing weekend—would never happen again. 

Taeyong cries until the cold of the shitty tiled floor and poorly-insulated walls reaches his bones and he’s forced to stand and seek warmth. Even after thinking it over, his tears still puzzle him. _I’m happy_ , he thinks as he waits for his water to boil. _I’m happy, so why does it feel like my heart is breaking?_

  
It’s Yuta he imagines to comfort himself as he’s falling asleep. It’s always Yuta; _his_ hands Taeyong pictures wrapped around his own as he drifts off, _his_ contact pulled up on Taeyong’s phone screen first thing in the morning. Even when he dreams, it’s Yuta then, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/nav)! also, I just made a [twitter](https://twitter.com/_kjmsupremacist)!
> 
> also um idk if anyone paid close attention to the part about the word for love, but personally i'm going insane over linguistics all the time, and I've been thinking about this concept a lot. feel free to skip this rant if you don't care about tenderness and also academics its fine. but what I said up there was true--爱 ( _ai_ , 愛 in traditional Mandarin, as well as in Japanese and Hanja; 사랑 **애** in Korean, the last character being the Korean version, pronounced _ae_ ) originally did not mean love! it simply meant a relationship of sorts characterized by a difficulty of separation. This could be two people, or a person and a possession; it was more economic than it was emotional. You can see where the modern definition came from.
> 
> What absolutely kills me is that part about the closest word to the modern _love_ being 知 ( _zhi_ ), which means _to know_. There's a lot of intricacies there, but basically 知 refers to the idea that being known is one of the most valuable things, even more than being desired or being cared for. _Knowing_ was considered a skill crucial to those in power, because it was important to be able to identify people with potential and elevate them to a position where they would be most useful. This act of being known was one so valued it was considered worth dying to defend. 
> 
> There was also the concept of 知己 ( _zhiji_ ), which roughly and simply translated means your soulmate. It's more than that--it's not just a close friend or someone who is deeply compatible to you, it is someone who is such a perfect reflection of your heart that they understand you in very rare way. It's someone who is _you_ ; it is someone who sees you and knows you and follows and complements your every move; someone who anticipates and values your will. It's an incredibly uncommon relationship to be able to find. Anyway, it drives me up the motherfucking wall because HOW FUCKING TENDER IS THAT. being known is being loved. sheesh.
> 
> On a slightly different note, I love language!! I love the sweet little ways we imbue the aching warmth of interpersonal relationships in the way that we speak! For example, in Vietnamese, the word for "to miss" is the same as the word for "to remember". You miss someone because your memory of them is heavy!! Further, in Chinese, the word for "to miss" is the same as "to think of". _我想你，我很想你。你想不想我吗？I think of you, I think so much about you. Do you think of me, too?_ Tell me that doesn't make you want to claw your heart out and drown it in the sea, the salt of the water the only possible cure for that kind of cloying sentimentality. Help!


	9. is this love or lust (or some game on repeat)?

For some reason, this week is hard to get through. Taeyong watches his roses, watches his phone for text messages and calls. He tries not to show how anxious he is to see Yuta again, how desperate, but it’s hard. It’s hard to focus on anything at all, really. At least he and Jaehyun are on better terms now—work is no longer so awkward around him.

It’s just as Yuta said—the roses are only just beginning to wilt, petals not even brown yet, when Friday evening arrives. He leaves them on his kitchen counter as he all but runs out the door when he sees Yuta’s text light up his phone. 

“Missed you,” Taeyong breathes out as soon as the door’s shut, leaning in for a kiss and fumbling with his seatbelt at the same time. 

Yuta kisses him back sweetly, and then nudges him away. “I gotta drive,” he says, laughing. Once they’re on their way, though, he takes Taeyong’s hand in his. It starts nice and innocent—just hands on hands, and then Taeyong begins to press soft kisses to Yuta’s knuckles and his palms. Yuta gives him a sort of appraising, sideways look, and Taeyong just looks back, big eyes pleading.

By the time they’re on Yuta’s street, Taeyong is gagging happily around two of his fingers. Yuta murmurs praise, coaxing his fingers out once the car is safely in park. He wipes them off on his hip, popping the door open with his free hand.

“I guess dinner can wait,” he says with a wicked grin. “C’mon.”

Taeyong is buzzing as he follows Yuta into the house. Yuta lifts him into his arms— _how is he so strong, seriously?_ —and kisses him breathless as he carries him into the living room. 

Yuta deposits him on the couch, still kissing him. Taeyong undoes Yuta’s pretty patterned shirt with clumsy fingers. It’s not necessary, but he wants to see him, and he figures it’ll be more comfortable anyway. Yuta is working on his jeans blindly. It’s messy and a little awkward but Taeyong doesn’t care, because Yuta is _here_ and kissing him like _this_ , so none of it really matters. 

“Hang on,” Yuta says after a moment. “We need lube.” He stands, tapping the waistband of Taeyong’s underwear. “Get these off while I grab it, yeah?”

“Mm-mm,” Taeyong says, shaking his head as he squirms out of his underwear. “Already prepped myself at home.”

Yuta blinks, bending down to see a simple plug, flat end pressed flush to Taeyong’s rim. “Jesus, baby,” he says softly, pushing it and humming when Taeyong cries out. “No wonder you were so needy in the car. Thought it was just ‘cuz you missed me.”

“I _did_ miss you,” Taeyong says. “That’s why—“ He gestures. “Please.”

Yuta is already on top of him, pushing one of his legs off the edge of the couch to give him more room between his thighs. “Got so goddamn lucky with you, didn’t I?” he murmurs. He brings his hand up below Taeyong’s chin. “Spit, honey.” Taeyong does as he’s told, moaning softly when Yuta leans close to give him a quick kiss on the temple. “Good boy,” he says, adding, “ _My_ good boy.”

Yuta has the plug out a couple seconds later, and then he’s pressing into Taeyong slowly, holding him in place by his hips. “Daddy,” Taeyong stutters out. “ _Yes,_ daddy.”

“Didn’t spend nearly enough time together last weekend, did we?” Yuta asks, rolling his hips again and again. “My fault, as usual,” he continues, before Taeyong can even open his mouth. “I’ll make up for it as best I can, okay?”

“Mmkay,” Taeyong sighs, linking his hands behind Yuta’s neck and gazing up at him, starry-eyed as he picks up the pace. The top of his head is bumping against the arm of the couch, but he hardly feels it. Yuta’s in between dye cycles now—his roots are a sort of awkward light caramel color. It’s a little odd, but something about it is endearing to Taeyong. He’s trimmed his bangs, too; they hardly brush his eyebrows. He looks younger in this light, like some kind of rock singer, rising in fame, right in his prime.

The thing that’s surprised Taeyong most, he supposes, is how real Yuta has become to him. Make no mistake—Yuta is still unbelievably handsome, still seems at times like he’s been plucked straight out of one of Taeyong’s favorite fantasies and placed in Taeyong’s hands—but there are other moments where he’s so deeply _human_ it makes something else in Taeyong ache. It’s warming, really, to find him so solidly whole. Taeyong no longer has to worry he won’t be there if he looks away for a moment; no longer feels like Yuta will disappear into a line if he turns to the side. Taeyong’s imagination isn’t powerful enough to conjure someone so complete.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” Yuta asks, leaning closer.

“Like what?” Taeyong whispers back.

“I don’t know, like you’re trying to pin me in place with your eyes,” Yuta says. “Hungry.”

“Want you,” Taeyong says, not sure how else to explain it. “Want more.”

“You have me,” Yuta replies.

“Can I—” Taeyong’s breath hiccups a little from the next thrust. “Can I suck your fingers, daddy? I like—I like having something in my mouth.”

Yuta just nods, bringing his hand up to Taeyong’s open mouth, pressing two fingers against his tongue. Taeyong lets his eyes flutter shut. _Now_ he feels full; now he doesn’t have to think about anything else, because he’s too busy focusing on his breath. He pokes his tongue between Yuta’s fingers experimentally, just to make his mouth feel more crowded. 

Yuta accommodates him, spreading his fingers a little. He touches Taeyong’s teeth, running along the smooth ridges. He flips his palm upwards, catching Taeyong by surprise, mapping the roof of his mouth, pressing against the soft palate between dragging his fingers forward. The weight of them is heavy in Taeyong’s mouth, and he moans insistently. 

“Gorgeous, baby,” Yuta murmurs. “You look so sweet.” Taeyong hums around his fingers, blinking up at him. “You were supposed to be all stretched out from the plug, but you’re still so tight, honey, feel so good.”

Taeyong clenches around him just for show, and Yuta moans low and deep, eyes fluttering shut. Taeyong sighs softly as Yuta’s cock grazes his prostate, tracing the lines and shadows of Yuta’s dark eyelashes where they meet the top of his cheekbone. He can feel the slick of precome on his stomach, cooling in the air and sending goosebumps scattering across his torso. 

Yuta’s thrusts are faster now, rougher; Taeyong’s brain feels like it’s rattling around in his skull, but he loves it—loves the numbness, the mindlessness. Of _course_ Yuta gives him exactly what he needs. Yuta bends closer and presses unsteady kisses to Taeyong’s jaw.

“I’m close, baby,” he says. “Want me to put the plug back in after I come?”

“Mm-hmm,” Taeyong says, shuddering in anticipation. It’s gross of him, he knows, but he likes how _owned_ it makes him feel—that Yuta is calling him _his_ when he does this. It’s almost soothing.

Yuta stills inside him, lips and tongue still against his jaw, huffing out harsh breaths as he comes. He groans through laughter, coaxing his fingers out of Taeyong’s mouth as he feels around for the discarded plug, and swiftly pushes it in the instant he pulls out.

Taeyong feels _good_ and _warm_ and _so, so full_. He can’t help the little content noise that rumbles out of his chest, and Yuta grins.

“Happy?” he asks, and Taeyong nods. “But you haven’t even come yet, baby.”

Taeyong had honestly forgotten, too distracted by how nice he feels, but he whines when his attention is drawn back to his cock, still hard against his stomach. Yuta is already there, though, running his hands down Taeyong’s inner thighs as he takes his cock into his mouth.

Taeyong gasps, stopping himself from grabbing Yuta’s hair with both hands. “Fuck,” he whimpers. “ _Fuck_ , daddy.”

Yuta bobs his head slowly, taking him a deeper little by little, steady breaths fanning across Taeyong’s skin. He presses his tongue against the underside of Taeyong’s cock, hollowing his cheeks until Taeyong is actually seeing stars—little bright floating lights obscuring his vision as he comes into Yuta’s mouth with a moan. Yuta holds him down, a hand on each hip, and doesn’t release him until Taeyong is pushing him away, overstimulated.

Yuta pulls off, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his thumb. He stands and walks up to Taeyong’s head and crouches beside him so he can give him a kiss. “Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” Taeyong replies. “Missed you.”

Yuta laughs. “Missed you, too.” He stands back up again and offers Taeyong a hand so he can pull him to his feet. “How about some dinner?”

“I suppose,” Taeyong says, giggling, plucking his pants up off the floor.

~ * ~

The next morning, Yuta suggests they go to the beach. It’s a bit of a drive, but the weather is gorgeous, and neither of them have a lot of work to do, so they pack some snacks and a few towels, and hop into the car after breakfast is eaten and the dishes are clean.

“We’re gonna have to behave,” Yuta warns him as he pulls out onto the street. “Just in case.”

“I know,” Taeyong says, raking his eyes over Yuta. He’s in a black tank top and his swimming trunks, and his sunglasses are perched on the top of his head the way that makes Taeyong kinda foam at the mouth. He swallows dryly. “I know.”

The sun is blinding; it glints off all the road signs and all the other cars on the highway. Yuta turns on the radio, and they listen to throwback hits as they speed along to the coast. Though the A/C is blasting and Taeyong’s honestly on the cold side, he can still tell just how sweltering it is out—the heat makes the air shimmer. It’s something about early August, and how every day burns yellow and gold and makes the time seem to drip by like honey; slow and lazy and sweet.

With it, though, comes the knowledge that summer is ending. In just a few short weeks, Taeyong will be home, and already having to pack for the upcoming school year. This summer will be a hazy dream, and nothing more. Of course Taeyong is homesick; of course he misses his family and his friends. But at the same time, he knows it’s going to break his heart, even if he and Yuta decide to keep contact. It seems Taeyong is always in a state of missing somebody or something, no matter where he goes.

“You okay?” Yuta asks, glancing over at him. “You look a little sad.”

“I’m good,” Taeyong says, not sure how to explain.

The beach is a little crowded—unsurprising, given that it’s a weekend in the summertime—but they manage to find a spot a little ways away from the water. Once their things are settled, phones carefully tucked away in hidden pockets, and shirts neatly folded with their sunglasses on top, Yuta tugs Taeyong down to the shore, laughing. Though Taeyong had been feeling melancholy in the car, it’s a little hard for the feeling to stick under the bright sun. 

They wade into the ocean together until they have to swim. It’s colder the further they get, but Taeyong’s always been a good swimmer, and it seems Yuta is too, so they just keep swimming until they’re a little removed from everyone else. Yuta turns his wide smile on Taeyong, and Taeyong’s heart flip-flops in his chest. His skin is shining, and he looks so happy.

“You’re gorgeous,” he tells him, and Yuta’s smile only grows.

“So’re you,” he replies, paddling closer so their legs brush. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

They swim for an hour or so, and then head back up onto the sand to reapply sunscreen and have a snack. Yuta hands him pieces of fruit absently; Taeyong takes them with his hands but wishes he could eat them straight out of Yuta’s fingers. 

After resting for a while, they go back out for another swim, though they keep to the shallower water this time, laughing and chasing each other around like a couple of kids. Yuta is almost frightening in his competitiveness, and Taeyong finds himself screaming as he runs away, while Yuta follows, splashing him with salty water. Taeyong is sun-drunk and a little loopy, and when he trips into Yuta’s chest, he catches him amid peals of laughter. Taeyong’s heart feels heavy with his fondness.

Eventually, though, it gets late, and they have to start making their way home. Together, they pack their things back into the car, and begin their return journey. They stop for food on their way out of the little beach town, and once Taeyong’s done eating, he dozes off with his head resting against the car window.

When he wakes up, they’re home, and he’s in Yuta’s arms, being carried up the stairs. “Yuta?” he murmurs. 

“Hi,” Yuta says softly. “You fell asleep in the car. I know you’re tired, but we gotta shower.”

“After we shower,” Taeyong says as Yuta sets him down on the edge of the tub, “will you fuck me?”

Yuta turns to him, gaze dark. “Of course I will,” he replies, and Taeyong hums, pleased.

Taeyong’s skin is still damp when Yuta lays him down in his bed and kisses his breath away. It feels late, even though the sun has only just begun to set, and Taeyong’s eyelids are heavy.

“If I fall asleep in the middle, it’s okay,” he says. “You can keep going. I want it.”

“Okay,” Yuta agrees, popping the lube open and spreading it over his fingers.

“Just—I want you to fuck me. I’m tired, but I want you, daddy,” Taeyong explains.

Yuta laughs, shaking his head. “You’re so fucking hot,” he murmurs, pushing his finger into Taeyong’s hole, distracting him by jerking him off with the other hand as he does it. “Perfect little slut—happy to let daddy use your body just ‘cuz it means you’ll have my cock inside you, even if you’re passed out, right?”

“ _Please_ ,” Taeyong says, because it’s exactly what he wants. He hopes he falls asleep and wakes up a few minutes later in a completely different position to Yuta coming in him or on him. It’s kind of fucked up, but he mostly just loves that he feels safe enough with Yuta to want it. He just hopes he’s tired enough that he’ll be able to stay asleep.

“Let’s wear you out first then,” Yuta says, like he’s reading Taeyong’s mind. He doesn’t give him a chance to reply; he just adds a second finger, and once Taeyong’s used to the stretch, he strokes over Taeyong’s prostate. Taeyong moans, writhing a little in the sheets at the sudden spike of pleasure.

Yuta draws out the prep, taking it nice and slow and opening Taeyong up until he has tears in his eyes and he’s begging Yuta to fuck him. Yuta only smiles and wraps his other hand around Taeyong’s cock and jerks him off as he massages his prostate with four fingers.

“Gonna come for me?” Yuta asks as Taeyong gasps and moans under him, hips twitching up into his fist.

“Yeah,” Taeyong chokes out. “Yeah, please.”

“Show me,” Yuta says, bending over and closing his mouth around one of Taeyong’s nipples. Taeyong whines, throwing his head back involuntarily. In moments like these, it’s almost like his body is not his own—it’s _Yuta’s_ , and only Yuta knows just what to do to make him feel like this. A few more pumps of Yuta’s fist has Taeyong spilling over his fingers and his own stomach, hot and wet, his chest heaving against Yuta’s mouth.

Yuta sits back and scoops up his come with his dirtied hand, bringing it to Taeyong's mouth so he can lick it clean. Taeyong closes his eyes, swirling his tongue around Yuta’s fingers with great care.

He can feel Yuta shifting around on the mattress as he spreads lube over his cock and lines himself up with Taeyong’s entrance, but he can’t be bothered to open his eyes. He’s sleepy, and warm and content, and he sort of relaxes into the pillows. He registers the faint burn of the head of Yuta’s cock as he pushes in, but he’s already drifting down into sleep. 

Taeyong dozes in and out, only coming to if Yuta does anything too abruptly. His head feels like it’s full of wet cotton, and even the setting sun is too bright for his eyes, so he keeps them closed with his head sort of lolled to the side, and lets Yuta have his way with him.

At one point, he realizes Yuta’s hand is in his hair, but though his thrusts are hard and fast, his touch is gentle; he’s just running his fingers through the faded blue strands. Taeyong squints up at him and sees raw affection painted across his face. He tries to reach up for him, making soft attempts at speech in the back of his throat, but Yuta shushes him.

“It’s okay, baby,” he says, leaning in to kiss him—first on the forehead, then on the cheek, then on the point on his jaw. “Go back to sleep. I’ll take care of you.”

Taeyong feels a little torn; on the one hand, he can feel pressure building again, and he wants to come; on the other hand, the dark comfort of sleep calls to him so strongly. He succumbs to the latter before he can give it much more thought, lulled by Yuta’s breath.

When he comes to again, Yuta is panting in his ear, and he realizes the pressure is gone. He peers down, and there’s just enough light remaining for him to catch the wet gleam of come on his stomach. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he mumbles, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

“Awake again?” Though Yuta’s voice is strained, it’s full of humor. “You came in your sleep, baby. I didn’t even have to touch you.” Taeyong just moans softly in response. “It was so hot,” Yuta continues. “Kinda wish I was filming it, so you could see. Beautiful, honey.”

“Mm, god, _daddy_ ,” Taeyong mumbles, a little overwhelmed. He can’t believe he didn’t wake up, and though he’s a little bit put out that he slept through it, he’s even more delighted by the fact that Yuta made him come while he was out. Even unconscious, his body still responds to him.

“You like that a lot, don’t you?” Yuta asks, and Taeyong nods. “Turns you on thinking about how you came on my cock when you were sleeping?”

“Yes,” Taeyong says. He’s already starting to slip back under; his speech is a little slurred, even to his own ears. “Want _you_ to come,” he manages, reaching up to curl his forefinger and thumb around Yuta’s wrist. He’s asleep before he can process Yuta’s response.

He must not be out for long, because Yuta’s only just pulling out when he reopens his eyes. The room is now truly dark, lit only by the thin, early-evening moonlight. Taeyong wrenches himself from sleep so that Yuta doesn’t have to carry him, pushing himself up to something near a sitting position.

Yuta smiles at him as he catches his breath, one hand on his cheek. “Welcome back,” he says.

Taeyong rolls his eyes. “Not for long, I’m exhausted.”

“Quick bath, and then we can sleep as long as you like,” Yuta promises, helping him to his feet and laughing when Taeyong’s knees buckle. “Though I will remind you, this was your idea.”

“And I don’t regret it,” Taeyong says firmly, clinging to Yuta as they walk to the bathroom.

They soak for a while, facing each other in the tub, legs slotted; Taeyong rests his forehead against Yuta’s shoulder while Yuta rubs his back, singing what Taeyong assumes is a lullaby in Japanese. Taeyong’s whole body is sore and screaming for rest, but he’s content. It’s the perfect end to a perfect day.

Yuta taps him on the back. “I’m gonna go change the sheets, okay?”

For some reason, that’s _not_ okay. Taeyong stiffens, anxiety shattering his peaceful calm, and he shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice comes out smaller and higher than he meant. “But—will you stay?”

“Okay.” Yuta sounds a little confused, but he doesn’t make a move to leave, just settles back down against Taeyong’s body and resumes his singing. 

“Thank you,” Taeyong says quietly, turning to press tiny, soft kisses into the side of Yuta’s neck.

Eventually, he persuades Taeyong to get out of the tub, and changes the sheets while Taeyong dries himself off slowly. When they’re all settled, Yuta closes the blinds, and they nestle into bed.

“You sure you’re okay?” Yuta asks after a moment. “You’ve been a little jumpy—and, I guess, needy, which is fine. I just—I’m just a little worried, I guess.”

Taeyong mulls it over. He wants to ask about the fall; he wishes so badly he could ask Yuta to make a decision now so he can just stop worrying. But he doesn’t know how he could bear it if Yuta said he thought they shouldn’t talk once the summer comes to a close. He’d rather stave off the pain of that kind of rejection, especially since last weekend is still so fresh on his mind. “In the morning, can we go get hair dye?” Taeyong finally asks. “I want to go back to black.”

“Sure,” Yuta agrees, sounding a little lost. “Is that—all?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong says. “Just tired, I think.” He pushes his face into Yuta’s clavicle, breathing in his scent. Yuta pets the back of his head, wrapping his other arm tighter around Taeyong’s waist.

They fall asleep like that, Taeyong tucked into Yuta’s chest, Yuta cradling Taeyong’s head in his hand.

~ * ~

Sunday evening sees Taeyong, freshly-dyed black hair still a little damp, trudging up the stairs to his apartment after kissing Yuta goodbye. When he walks in, his eyes immediately land on the vase of flowers on his kitchen counter.

His roses are brown and wilting, bent over the rim of the wine bottle, some petals scattered at the base. He pulls the stems out of the bottle gingerly, sweeping it all into the trash, and then leaves the bottle to soak in soapy water in the sink. He stands there in front of the sink, gazing out the window without really looking at anything. He had to toss them out, but it makes him feel a little hollow. It was proof that Yuta cared, and as frightening as it was, it was also nice to have around, and now it’s gone.

He’s so painfully alone. He knows it’s kind of dumb, but he can’t really bear to be wandering around his empty apartment, so he changes into a pajama shirt and curls up under the covers, even though it’s still early. After some tossing and turning, though, he realizes he probably won’t be able to sleep for quite some time.

He plucks up his phone and scrolls aimlessly, opening and closing apps without doing anything in them. And then, he notices a message from the day before that he must’ve missed. It’s from Doyoung, his best friend. They grew up in the same town and ended up at the same university, and have been roommates since move-in last fall.

**Hey** ** _,_ ** it says. **Haven’t heard from you lately. How’s your summer?**

Taeyong calls him instead of replying.

“Hi?” Doyoung answers after it rings for a while. “What’s up?”

“Too lazy to type,” Taeyong responds, and he grins a little when he hears Doyoung’s exasperated little huff. “My summer’s been… good. Interesting. What about yours?”

“Terrible,” Doyoung replies. “Tell me why I decided to take classes during our vacation again?”

“Because you’re a nerd,” Taeyong supplies.

“Right.” Taeyong can picture Doyoung’s begrudging smirk. “What did you mean, your summer’s been interesting?”

Taeyong knows he shouldn’t, but suddenly he finds himself spilling the whole story to Doyoung—how he and Yuta met and then just kept running into each other, how he ended up at Yuta’s house that one night, and how it’s all snowballed from there. 

“Jesus Christ, Taeyong, ‘interesting’ isn’t the world I would use,” Doyoung says when he’s finished. “He’s _how_ old?”

“Forty,” Taeyong says, a little hesitant.

“I—I mean, okay. He sounds nice, at least?”

“He’s very nice,” Taeyong says. “And oh my _god_ , Doyoung, he’s _so_ hot.” Suddenly, the whole situation doesn’t seem as big or burdensome, now that he’s shared it with someone.

“D’you—d’you, like, love him?” Doyoung asks.

“I—no, I don’t think so,” Taeyong responds honestly. “It’s not love, it’s just that we can’t really… let each other go. So far, anyway. I haven’t asked about the fall.”

“What are you gonna do if he says he wants to stay in touch?”

“Convince him to come visit,” Taeyong says. “Probably sexile you at least once. Though I bet he’ll bring me back to his hotel.”

“This is insane,” Doyoung says. “And, uh, what are you gonna do if he says he wants to end it?”

Taeyong is silent for a minute. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “Deal with it, I guess.” There’s another pause. “Neither of us meant for it to go like this,” he adds, softer. “But here we are. I thought I could just hook up with him a couple of times and get it out of my system, but now—I mean, he bought me roses, you know? He—he washes my hair, and cooks for me. He _knows_ me. It’s not just about the sex anymore, it’s about _him_. He’s funny, and he’s really great company, and—and—I like him a lot, Doie.”

“I can tell.” Doyoung’s voice has real compassion in it, a mirror of Taeyong’s sadness. “I’m so sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading! [tumblr](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/_kjmsupremacist) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/kjmsupremacist)
> 
> if you have a little money to spare, please consider buying me a coffee! the link can be found on my tumblr (link above) no pressure of course! only if you're willing and able :)


	10. my clothes still smell like you (and all the photographs say you're still young)

Taeyong was right about the lethargy of August. Even work feels slow; none of them get much done, interns and department heads alike. It’s hot and humid, even with the A/C, and Taeyong feels sluggish. 

Their last day of work is a Friday, and Yuta insists that Taeyong spend the night with his fellow interns. “You’ll have Monday and Tuesday free,” he says. “I’ll come get you in the morning, okay?”

Taeyong’s grateful for his insistence, really. They have a little party at the office, and then Taeyong goes out with a bunch of the other interns, including Jaehyun. It turns out Johnny and Ten have gotten together in these past couple of months—something Taeyong missed while he was wrapped up in his own escapades.

“So how did that happen?” Taeyong asks, clinking his beer against Ten’s as he takes his seat beside him, watching their friends jump around on the dance floor. “You and Johnny?”

Ten smiles. “It’s funny, actually,” he says. “We were hanging out a lot, and I was operating under the assumption that we were just doing it as friends, and Johnny was operating under the assumption that we were on, like, our fifth date or something. One day he walked me home, and gave me a goodnight kiss, and everything clicked.” Ten grins. “So I invited him in, and we talked about it. After fucking, obviously.”

Taeyong laughs out loud. Ten’s straightforwardness is always a breath of fresh air. “What’re you gonna do this fall, though?” he asks. “I mean, Johnny’s going back to the States, right?”

Ten shrugs. “We’ll figure it out. He’s always back in Korea for holidays and stuff, so provided I’m not visiting family in Thailand, it shouldn’t be a problem.” He takes a sip of his beer. “I know the long distance thing is hard, but… I dunno. I really like him, and he really likes me, so we’ll make it happen.”

“That’s really sweet,” Taeyong says.

“And what about you?” Ten asks. “What happened with you and Jaehyun?”

Taeyong makes an awkward noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh. “Ah,” he says. “It just didn’t work out.”

Ten doesn’t press; that’s the other great thing about him. For a moment, Taeyong has a flash of regret. If he’d spent more time with his fellow interns instead of Yuta, he has a feeling he and Ten could’ve become really good friends. 

Taeyong gets medium-drunk and decides to stop, a choice he’s very proud of later when Jungwoo is throwing up on the sidewalk while Kun tries to flag down a taxi for him. He says goodbye once he knows Jungwoo’s safely on his way home, and starts the short trek back to his apartment. The night is clear and warm, and the stars blink at him as he walks. All the interns promised they’d keep in touch. Taeyong flips his phone over in his hands. There’s a new group chat on it, right at the top. It’s so easy. _Why isn’t everything so easy?_

He gets up early the next morning to get a start on packing. His train comes Wednesday afternoon, and Yuta will drop him off. It’s nice, not having to deal with getting a taxi. Taeyong’s just worried that he’ll cry.

Packing goes surprisingly quickly. He didn’t really move in as much as he thought he had—probably because he rarely spent his weekends in this apartment anyway. He removes the drawers from the dresser to check that nothing has fallen behind, and even crawls along the floor to check that there’s nothing that’s slipped under the furniture. He notices a crumpled shadow under his bed and stretches his arm out, sort of army-crawling a foot or two to get at it. He slides back out from underneath his bed and finds the jeans he wore out that first weekend in his hands, now a little dusty. He grimaces, but not from the dirt. He was such a different person at the beginning of the summer, and now he has to return to a place that houses that person, along with all the ghosts of who he used to be, and try to find his place there among them. He has a feeling he’ll find that there isn’t one at all.

Regardless of whether he and Yuta decide to stay together in any capacity, he will go home changed. How is he supposed to pick up the pieces of his old life; how is he supposed to slip back into that mold after all of this? And what about school? Doyoung knows, but what is he going to tell the rest of his friends? _Is_ he going to tell the rest of his friends? And his parents— _oh god,_ his parents. He tries to imagine that conversation.

_“So how was your summer?”_

_“Good. Internship was good.”_

_“Make any friends?”_

_“Yeah, lots.”_

_“What did you do for fun?”_

_“…”_

There’s a certain grief that comes with change, no matter how necessary or inevitable that change is. It’s not that Taeyong wants to stay in this strange city for the rest of his life. It’s not that he won’t be able to move on. It’s just that there’s a piece of him that will cling to this summer forever; there’s a part of him that will miss these last couple of months with a raw keenness he knows at times will stop him in his tracks. And that won’t change, he realizes as he steps into the shower, no matter how much time passes, no matter how many good memories he stacks on top of these ones, no matter how many times he sees Yuta in the future, if he sees him at all. He’ll be in the middle of class, and his mind will wander one step too far, and his ears will be full of ringing. He’ll be on a date with a different man in a different city, living a different life, and something will remind him and his breath will crystallize in his throat. He’ll be forty-five, doing the dishes, and he’ll remember this summer and break the mug he was washing in the sink.

He’s more or less done by the time Yuta swings by. He grabs his overnight bag and trudges down the stairs. He wants to see Yuta, but he’s also dragging his feet a little. He wants every moment slowed down; he wants to scan these last few days frame by frame, heartbeat by heartbeat. The sun blazes down on him as he steps out onto the sizzling pavement. He nearly burns himself on the handle of Yuta’s car doors. Yuta smiles at him as he slides into the passenger seat, and Taeyong wants to tilt forward and bury his face in his chest and stay there for the rest of his life.

“Hey,” he says instead.

“Hey,” Yuta replies. He’s in a random old t-shirt and shorts, but Taeyong doesn’t think he could look any better. “Not too hungover?” 

Taeyong shakes his head. “Didn’t drink a whole lot last night.”

“Good,” Yuta says. “Have you eaten?”

“I had toast?” Taeyong replies. “I was busy packing.”

“We’ll have brunch, then,” Yuta decides. 

Taeyong desperately wants to ask if Yuta has thought at all about what they want to do after this long weekend, but at the same time, he’s worried it’ll ruin the potentially short time they have left together. So he just watches out the window, tracing over now-familiar streets as they head away from the city and to Yuta’s house.

The sunlight isn’t as harsh inside, even though Yuta’s kitchen boasts big windows. Yuta heats up bone broth while Taeyong fiddles with the rice cooker. Dust particles float across his vision, and aside from the gentle clinking and bubbling from cooking, the only other sound is Yuta’s soft humming.

Yuta comes up behind Taeyong and wraps his arms around him. Taeyong melts backwards into his touch, sighing happily when Yuta presses sweet kisses to his neck. He turns in Yuta’s arms so he can hold him tight, resting his cheek on Yuta’s shoulder. 

“You okay, baby?” Yuta murmurs.

“Yeah,” Taeyong replies softly. “You’re comfy, that’s all.” Yuta chuckles lightly, swaying them a little as they wait for their food to heat.

They eat quickly and quietly, and once they’re both full, Taeyong stands to clean the dishes. Yuta stops him with a hand on his wrist, pulling him into his lap. “Leave it,” he says quietly. “We’ll deal with it later. Let me hold you.”

“Oh!” Taeyong sets his bowl down and eagerly crawls into Yuta’s lap, straddling his thighs, his feet dangling a few inches off the floor. Yuta rubs his back over his t-shirt, letting out a soft, satisfied grunt when Taeyong stops trying to hold himself up and drops his full weight onto him. Taeyong brushes Yuta’s hair back with both hands, scratching lightly at his scalp, and Yuta closes his eyes briefly, smiling.

“Hey,” Yuta murmurs. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

Taeyong’s breath hitches in his throat. “I have, too,” he says.

“I don’t want this to end,” Yuta says, and Taeyong’s eyes widen, his heart fluttering in his chest. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you, and it’s okay if you don’t agree. I just want you to know where I am. I like you a lot, Taeyong. And even though we won’t be able to see each other as often, I still want—you. Is that okay?”

“Oh my god, yes,” Taeyong says quickly. “I—I don’t mind if we don’t see each other much, I won’t want anybody else anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Yuta holds him in place, his expression sincere. “It’s—I mean, I don’t want to make things harder for you.”

“This is making things easier,” Taeyong insists. 

“Yeah?” Yuta’s eyes crinkle with happiness. “Good, because I don’t want to give you up again.”

Taeyong surges forward and kisses him. _Yuta wants him. Yuta wants to keep him._ “I was worried all this week,” he admits when he pulls away to breathe. “I mean, I’d understand. It won’t be easy, and you have your career, and I’m basically just some random kid—”

“I hope you know you’re more than just a random kid to me now,” Yuta interrupts. “You’re right, it won’t be easy, but we’re smart, right? We’ll figure something out.” Taeyong laughs, giddy in his relief. “We can call often, and I’ll come visit you from time to time. Luckily, I’m not very recognizable,” Yuta continues with a grin. “I’ll get a hotel room nearby, and stop on campus to drop off a key. And you can come over after your classes are done. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong breathes out. He was so tense all week, and he’s only now realizing because he’s deflating into a tired, withered, but happy little version of himself right here in Yuta’s lap. “Really good.”

Yuta cups his cheek, stroking his thumb across the soft skin under Taeyong’s eye. “I thought about being in this big empty house without you as the weather turns cold, and knowing you’d be lonely in a shitty little dorm room hours away, and it broke my heart a bit,” he says. Taeyong makes a small, sad noise in his throat. He never really considered Yuta would be lonely without him, but now he pictures it—just Yuta shuffling around in his house, all on his own, and it’s almost painful. _I could never leave him all alone like that._ “You can send me your class schedule, and that way I’ll know when I can bug you,” Yuta continues.

Taeyong threads his fingers through Yuta’s hair, resuming his little scalp massage. “I will,” he says. “I know you like to go into town when you’re lonely, but when the days get shorter and the weather gets worse, it won’t always be safe for you to come down the big hill. So you should just call me when that happens, okay?”

“Okay,” Yuta agrees with a light laugh. “My little boy,” he adds softly. “So good to me.”

Taeyong hums, shaking his head. “I like being around you,” he says. “Even if it’s just over the phone. So I’m glad I get to do it more.”

Yuta’s smile grows. “ _I’m_ glad we got that out of the way,” he says, his voice low. “I want to do so many things with you this weekend.”

“With me, or _to_ me?” Taeyong asks pointedly, biting back a giggle.

“A little bit of both,” Yuta concedes, his smile sharp and wicked and charming. “Maybe all at once. What d’you think?”

“Yes,” Taeyong says, squirming in Yuta’s lap. “Want it.”

Yuta kisses him, licking and biting at his lips, messy and rough the way Taeyong loves. He rolls his hips without even thinking about it, aching for friction, aching for more contact. Yuta presses his palm over Taeyong’s crotch, where his cock is just beginning to harden in his sweats. “I was thinking maybe we could make it upstairs for once,” he says. “But it seems like we have something to take care of. That’s okay,” he adds, when Taeyong whines a little in embarrassment. “You know I like it when you’re needy.” He takes a hold of Taeyong’s cock through his pants. “I like it when you let this do all your thinking.” He tugs a little, and Taeyong moans in surprise. “You get so desperate, you’ll take anything, right?”

“Don’t be mean,” Taeyong complains, trying to thrust up into Yuta’s fist. Yuta doesn’t let him. “Da-ddyyy,” he whines reproachfully.

“What about this, baby?” Yuta says, like they’re trying to come to an agreement about what they want for dinner. “You ride my thigh till you come, and then we’ll go upstairs so I can fuck you where it’s more comfy?”

“Okay,” Taeyong huffs, already rocking a little against Yuta’s palm. Yuta changes their position, grabbing Taeyong’s hips to move him up off one of his legs. He drives the one still between Taeyong’s thighs up a bit, and Taeyong pitches forward, bracing himself against Yuta’s shoulders. Yuta has one hand splayed on Taeyong’s lower back, and the other cupping his ass.

Taeyong considers pausing to take his pants off, but he doesn’t really care. Plus, he has a feeling Yuta will like how desperate and pathetic it makes him look—shit, _he_ likes how desperate and pathetic it makes him feel. He’s gonna come in his pants because he couldn’t be bothered to wait, like a dumb slut. It’s already messy; he ruts against the hard muscle of Yuta’s thigh, the head of his cock bumping against Yuta’s stomach every now and again, and he can feel how wet he is, underwear sticky with precome. It’s dirty, and makes him feel so _stupid_ in the best way, because that’s how Yuta likes him. Nothing else matters.

One of Yuta’s hands slips below his waistband, and Taeyong struggles between wanting to arch back into his touch, and wanting to get off as fast as possible so Yuta will fuck him. He does a bit of both, and Yuta presses his fingertips into his flesh, almost possessively. Taeyong whimpers when he bounces his leg ever-so-slightly. Yuta murmurs encouragement at him that he barely hears “—Sound so sweet, baby, so perfect for me—“ because he’s stroking a finger over Taeyong’s entrance now.

“Mm, daddy,” Taeyong slurs. Yuta gently works the tip of one of his fingers in, and Taeyong screws his eyes shut, dropping his head down chin-to-chest, thrusting faster against Yuta’s thigh. Yuta moves his hands with him, pressing his finger in little by little as Taeyong rocks and trembles and moans on top of him. “More, more,” he pleads.

Yuta clicks his tongue at him in mock disapproval. “I’m already helping you too much,” he says, but he doesn’t pull his finger out. It burns a little since it’s dry, but Taeyong doesn’t care, almost likes it better that way. Yuta finally brushes his prostate, and Taeyong lets out a low moan, satisfaction making his head muddled and cloudy. “Good?”

“S’good,” Taeyong agrees. He’s slid down Yuta’s leg at this point, and because his pants need to accommodate Yuta’s hand, his cock has slipped from its place beside his thigh, and now pokes over his waistband. Yuta just draws him closer so he fuck up against his stomach. Taeyong can feel the hard bulge of Yuta’s cock against his leg as he moves, and he whimpers. He debates putting his own orgasm on the back burner in favor of riling Yuta up to see if it’ll get him to fuck him here and now, but he quickly abandons the idea. He knows Yuta will be able to fuck him better on his bed. Besides, Taeyong doesn’t want to put his orgasm on the back burner. He wants to come.

Yuta holds Taeyong flush to his body, stroking over his prostate again and again, cooing at the frustrated noises Taeyong makes as his cock dribbles precome over his sweats and Yuta’s shirt, leaving dark, slick stains. Taeyong doesn’t have the space to be embarrassed, though he registers in the back of his head that maybe he should be. Instead, it just fuels him, and he moves faster, a staccato kind of moan sneaking its way out through his clenched teeth.

“Look at you,” Yuta says, half patronizing, half praise. “So come-dumb already.”

“Feels s-so _naughty_ , daddy,” Taeyong says. 

“Mm, but it’s good, right?” Yuta pets Taeyong’s prostate as he talks. “Remember that day when I asked if I should see how many times I could make you come, to see if it would help with you being such an incurable little slut?” Taeyong manages to nod, hiccuping out whimpers, not slowing a bit as Yuta continues talking. “Wanna try it before you leave? Just to see what your limit is?”

Taeyong gasps. “Oh, _yes_ ,” he manages, cock throbbing as he thinks about Yuta making him come over and over and over, until all his orgasms are completely dry, until he’s limp in his hands and only half-conscious, until he’s sore all over and can’t even get hard anymore. Pleasure unfurls in his belly, and the next time Yuta brushes his prostate, he’s coming, hips twitching of their own accord as he spills his release all over his and Yuta’s clothes, shuddering through tiny moans.

Yuta helps him to his feet with a hundred kisses, telling him how good he was, how pretty he looked. He helps him out of his clothes and leaves him teetering and a little dazed in the entrance to the kitchen while he goes to throw all their clothing in the laundry room sink to soak. He’s back in an instant, naked and beautiful, sweeping his hair from his eyes with his hand, earrings glinting in the light.

“C’mon,” he says, steering Taeyong up the stairs. “Your reward.”

“And yours,” Taeyong mutters, and Yuta laughs.

“You caught me,” he says, leaving Taeyong to get settled on the bed while he gets lube.

Taeyong arranges himself on his back, head resting in the comfort of the pillows. The sheets are soft and soothing on his hot skin, and he nestles further into the mattress, bending his knees, planting his feet, and dropping his legs open as Yuta saunters up to him, lube in hand.

Yuta slinks onto the bed, crawling up to him, fitting the crooks of Taeyong’s knees around his waist. “Jesus, you look so good,” he says, like he’s not even really thinking about what he’s saying. His eyes rove Taeyong’s body, and he fluffs Taeyong’s hair a little, kissing the corner of his mouth before sitting back so he can open the lube. “The blue hair was cute,” he says. “And you’re gorgeous no matter what. But I do love your black hair. It makes you look more real, and less like an incredibly elaborate daydream.”

His frankness surprises a peal of laughter out of Taeyong. “You think I look like a daydream?” he asks.

“Sometimes,” Yuta says as he pushes a slick finger into Taeyong, realizing he’s still loose and immediately adding another. “I think I made you up. Not that I imagine guys your age often. I just think about you,” he adds, and Taeyong snickers.

“I didn’t think that,” he assures him. “It’s just funny, because sometimes I think, like, you’re straight out of one of my fantasies. Like, that’s how I think about it. And I just think it’s hilarious that you’re using a cute word like daydream, and telling me you think about me. Meanwhile, finding you gave me a face to complete a vision I kind of already had, that I kind of already thought about.”

“Well, it’s different for you,” Yuta points out, and Taeyong knows he’s right. They’re quiet for a moment, and Taeyong lets himself get lost a little in pleasure. He loves getting fingered, and Yuta somehow does it just right. “I do think about you, though,” Yuta says. “Not just in a sexual way—I mean, have no doubt, I do that too.” He affords himself a short laugh before continuing. “I mean like, my memory of you keeps me company when you’re not here.”

His confession is electrifying. “I know what you mean,” Taeyong says, his voice wavering a little. He never wanted to even hope it was true, that Yuta took comfort in the thought of him the way he did in the thought of Yuta. No one could need him that way, right? Least of all Yuta; least of all now. And yet, here he was. “I think about you like that, too.”

“I know.” Yuta pauses his movements, kind eyes finding Taeyong’s. “I just thought you might like to hear me say it.”

And there Yuta goes again, offering Taeyong comfort like a neatly wrapped present, complete with a perfect, pretty little bow. The tag says _I know you_. There isn’t a gift receipt.

Taeyong can’t stop thinking about it; it lingers there in the back of his mind even when Yuta folds him in half, pressing his knees into the mattress next to his ears and fucks him so good his eyes cross. It’s still not love, though now, maybe it will be, in time. But there’s an undercurrent of understanding that flows between them, an anticipatory sort of care. Taeyong still isn’t very good at predicting Yuta’s actions, but he’s figuring it out. Yuta is teaching him by showing; open-palmed, generous, and vulnerable.

Taeyong’s teeth clack from the way Yuta’s fucking him, and he lets his thoughts slip out of his head. It’s good content for a rainy day alone in his dorm, but now he loops his hands around the back of Yuta’s neck and pulls him closer. Now he moans open-mouthed against the flushed skin of Yuta’s chest. Now he lets Yuta kiss bruises into his sternum. Now, he whimpers out _daddy, daddy, daddy_ in time with each stroke of the head of Yuta’s cock against his abused prostate. 

Yuta comes first, practically growling Taeyong’s name in his ear, and he makes Taeyong come with his hands and his mouth before he’s even caught his breath. They clean up, and then roll around in bed for a while just because they can. 

Taeyong lays half on top of Yuta’s chest, warm and drowsy in the sunlight, tracing lines into his skin with his fingertips. Yuta hums as he plays with Taeyong’s hair. Things are so good like this. Taeyong wishes this weekend would last forever; a never-ending mirage in a scorching summer sunset, just Yuta and him.

~ * ~

Sunday morning after breakfast, Yuta suggests they dress up like they were at that lecture series so that they can take a picture together. He pulls out his gorgeous blue suit, and they stand against the nondescript white wall of his foyer and use the self-timer on Taeyong’s phone. It’s a little awkward because they have to act professional, but it comes out well.

“I won’t be able to put it up in my dorm room,” Taeyong says regretfully. “In case someone recognizes you when you come to visit. But it’s really nice to have.”

Yuta kisses the crown of his head. “I know,” he says.

Taeyong doesn’t let Yuta take the suit off. All he has to do, really, is make his eyes big and pretty and tell him, “But you just look so handsome, daddy,” and Yuta bends to his will, shrugging the jacket back on. 

Yuta has a few things to read that day for work, so he sits up in bed with Taeyong curled into his side, brushing his fingers through Taeyong’s hair as he reads. Taeyong starts fiddling with the waistband and button of Yuta’s pants, and after a few moments, Yuta puts his reading to the side and tugs a little on Taeyong’s hair to get his attention.

“Do you want something?” he asks quietly, a ribbon of amusement fluttering through his tone.

“Can I suck your cock?” Taeyong asks, and Yuta huffs out laughter. “Or not even suck it, just like—use my mouth to keep it warm till you’re done, and _then_ maybe suck it?”

Yuta gives a little disbelieving shake of his head. “Alright, but you better stay still,” he says. “Last time we tried something like this, I distinctly remember you being a terrible little brat.”

“Won’t,” Taeyong insists. “I just like having something in my mouth. And it—it feels good.”

“You mean it makes you feel used,” Yuta says as he unzips his fly.

Taeyong blushes. “You know I like feeling like a doll,” he mutters as he shifts down so he can rest his head in Yuta’s lap.

“I’m not teasing,” Yuta says softly, running his thumb over the hollow of Taeyong’s cheekbone. “You’re so hot, you know that?”

Taeyong brushes some of his hair out of his eyes and opens his mouth, lolling his tongue out a little and looking up at Yuta innocently. “I think in time you could convince me,” he replies, and Yuta smiles.

He lets Yuta guide the head of his cock into his mouth. He licks over it a little just to get it wet, but then goes still like he promised. He really isn’t intent on misbehaving today; he meant it when he said he liked the feeling. Yuta’s cock is heavy in his mouth, and he closes his eyes, breathing evenly around it as best he can. He doesn’t try to take him deeper or hollow his cheeks; he just holds it there, letting spit gather in his mouth. Yuta strokes his hair. “Good boy,” he whispers, and Taeyong allows himself the tiniest of moans. “When I’m done, I’ll fuck you, okay?”

Taeyong gives a little nod, and Yuta goes back to his reading, though he keeps one hand on his cheek. It’s so gentle and sweet, but so deliciously depraved at the same time. Taeyong’s hard in his jeans, and he feels almost drunk, head spinning. He doesn’t know why this kind of stuff gets him so bad. He thinks it’s a combination of feeling owned and just enjoying feeling full.

Yuta reads placidly, and Taeyong goes limp, almost dozing as he waits for him to finish. It probably isn’t more than an hour, though Taeyong really would have no way of knowing. But eventually, Yuta shifts around and pats his cheek, and Taeyong reluctantly pulls off his cock. A thick string of spit stretches from his lip the head of Yuta’s cock, glittering in the afternoon sunlight. Yuta wipes it away with his thumb before kissing Taeyong, sweet and deep.

“You were so good,” Yuta says, cupping his jaw. “So patient. My perfect baby boy.”

Taeyong’s whole body is weak from the praise. “For you, daddy,” he replies, and Yuta groans in the back of his throat, pushing Taeyong down on the bed. Taeyong feels so little and stupid and precious in Yuta’s hands, and his cock twitches a little in anticipation. Yuta rolls him over, pulling his pants down around his ankles and grabbing the lube off the bedside table from where they left it the night before.

Yuta opens him up with a sort of direct purpose—it’s not that he rushes it, but he does it with the clear intent of stretching Taeyong wide open as efficiently as possible. Taeyong can’t do anything except muffle his moans in the duvet and let Yuta stroke his walls with three fingers, and then four.

“Does it hurt?” Yuta asks, pumping his fingers in-out, in-out.

“Mm-mm,” Taeyong replies. “Feel’s nice,” he says, adding, “Your cock would feel nicer.”

Yuta pulls his fingers out and pulls Taeyong backwards by the hips until his toes are dangling over the edge of the bed. Taeyong yelps in his surprise, tapering it to a moan when Yuta plants a hand between his shoulder blades, guiding him to arch his back, head buried in his forearms.

He hears the rustling of fabric. “You’ve got quite a mouth, you know,” Yuta says as he lines himself up. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” he continues as he presses in. Taeyong just responds by moaning. “You think I don’t know how to make my baby feel good?” He curls over Taeyong’s body as he bottoms out, and grinds against Taeyong’s prostate. Soft cries bubble up out of Taeyong’s lips. His tongue is so heavy. “Hm? You think daddy doesn’t know how to fuck you right?”

“N-no,” Taeyong protests, knees knocking when Yuta rolls his hips nice and slow.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Yuta says, but he follows it with a few tender kisses down Taeyong’s spine. “Lucky you’re pretty,” he says as he stands back up, readjusting his grip on Taeyong’s hips. “Lucky you’ve got such a nice body.” He pulls almost all the way out, just until the very tip of his cock is resting at Taeyong’s entrance, and then pushes back in, and does it again and again and again. “You were so tight the first time I fucked you,” he comments. “But now I just have to spend a couple extra minutes when I’m prepping you, and you open right up. Take me so well.” He presses a finger in beside his cock, and Taeyong sobs as his cock drips precome down his inner thighs.

“Don’t,” he whines, absolutely not meaning it. Yuta just pushes his finger in farther. Taeyong can picture his wide, devious grin. “Daddy, _no_ , ’s embarrassing.”

Yuta relents, pulling his finger out, and goes back to gaping him instead. “Sorry baby,” he says unapologetically. “You just always manage to surprise me. Wish you could see yourself right now. You’re so loose.” Taeyong can feel it; he can feel the cold breeze of the air conditioning where he’s all exposed; he can feel some extra lube leak out with Yuta’s next thrust in and drip down his thigh. “You’re _ruined_ , honey,” Yuta says, and Taeyong whines in complaint. “Who did this to you, huh?”

“ _You_ , daddy,” Taeyong accuses. “We’ve talked about this.” 

Yuta’s definitely smiling now; Taeyong can hear it in his voice. “That’s right,” he says, like he’s only just recalling it. “I did. But that’s okay, right? I don’t mind, and neither do you, and you’re _my_ little boy, so—“ He thrusts in extra-hard and Taeyong squeals. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

_Yuta’s little boy_. Taeyong’s pretty sure he’s drooling, though he can’t reach up to check. “Daddy,” he mumbles around his clumsy tongue as Yuta finally stops teasing, and sets a normal pace. 

Yuta’s touch is smooth and soothing down his back. “Right here, honey,” he says, and Taeyong decides he could die right now and it would be just fine. “I’ve got you.”

Yuta starts to really fuck him now, making Taeyong’s toes curl against the edge of the mattress. Yuta’s thrusts are harsh and deep—Taeyong’s nose is shoved into the sheets almost painfully. He tries to clench around Yuta, but he’s already too unsteady. The only reason he hasn’t slipped onto his side is that Yuta is holding him in place as he pounds him into the bed. Taeyong couldn’t talk if he tried, instead just letting out short little moans with every exhale.

Taeyong’s body hardly knows how to keep up with everything that’s happening to it as it is, and then Yuta wraps a hand around Taeyong’s cock without warning. He strokes him a couple of times, and then thumbs at the slit. Taeyong screams before he can stop himself, and quickly tries to bite it back into smaller noises. But, _fuck_ , it feels good. What else is he supposed to do when Yuta knows exactly how to touch him? He realizes a few tears have rolled down his cheeks, but it’s not even from pain. It’s just everything; with Yuta, everything feels like the best he’s ever had, and one of these days, his poor little heart is going to give out from the shock of it all.

“You’re so hard,” Yuta comments, strained. “It looks painful. D’you wanna come?”

“Mm-hmm, mm-hmm.” It’s the best Taeyong can do, but Yuta understands, speeding up his fist. “Mmm my god, daddy— _ah_!” He really wants to _tell_ Yuta how good he feels, but he can’t, not with Yuta hitting his prostate dead on with every thrust, not with the way he fills him up, not with the way Taeyong can hear and feel how wet his hole is. He thinks he’s proud, honestly, that he’ll let Yuta make him this messy just because it’s what he wanted to see today. 

“You like it? You like it when I fuck you facedown like this, like a little whore?” Yuta asks. He twists the hand that’s around Taeyong’s cock a little.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Taeyong whimpers. “Yes,” he adds when he remembers he’s supposed to be answering him.

“So good for me, baby,” Yuta grits out, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Taeyong’s waist. “I’m gonna come.”

Taeyong can feel it, the way he shakes, the way the hand around his cock has become erratic and unsure, the way his hips twitch a little; Yuta only ever goes this fast when he’s close. It’s become a bit painful now, and fresh tears spring to Taeyong’s eyes and spill thick and hot over his waterline, clinging to his lashes when he tries to blink them away.

“Does it hurt?” Yuta asks, voice low and gravelly in his ear.

“Yeah,” Taeyong says, voice tiny and helpless. “B-but I like it. Like it when you make me cry.”

“Of course— _fuck_ —of course you do,” Yuta pants out. “Shit, _shit_ , baby—” He grunts a little as he stills inside Taeyong, still jerking him off lazily as he comes, warm and wet. 

He pulls out when he’s done, and Taeyong feels his come leak out of his hole immediately. There’s nothing Taeyong can do about it, and he whines when Yuta focuses on Taeyong’s cock once more, speeding up again, his hand slick with Taeyong’s precome. 

“Lemme see you come, honey,” Yuta encourages.

Taeyong tries to form words, he really does, but there’s no space between his moans. And then Yuta takes two fingers and scoops some of his release up where it’s dripping down the back of Taeyong’s legs and shoves it back in, and Taeyong cries, coming hard in Yuta’s hands, making a mess on the sheets. Yuta strokes him through the aftershocks, humming happily in the back of his throat.

Once Taeyong’s spent, Yuta gathers him up in his arms. “Oh, you look so sweet,” he murmurs, wiping his tears away.

“Got your nice suit all dirty,” Taeyong whispers, and Yuta laughs.

“Small price to pay,” he replies, kissing Taeyong’s nose, “for your happiness.”

~ * ~

The days pass much faster than Taeyong would like, and too soon it’s Wednesday morning. He blinks himself awake, and dread crashes over him. Yuta’s still sleeping beside him, but it’s about time they got up, so Taeyong rolls over and kisses his cheek and jaw until he wakes up.

“We should probably get started on breakfast,” Taeyong says, unable to keep the terrible sadness out of his voice.

Yuta twists around to look at the clock. “We still have a little time,” he says. “C’mere. Let me hold you for a while.”

Taeyong snuggles closer, and Yuta wraps his arms around him and kisses his hair. “I don’t wanna leave,” Taeyong says quietly.

“I know,” Yuta says. “But you have to. And it’ll be okay.”

“I know,” Taeyong says. They’re quiet for a moment. “Thank you,” he says. “For this summer. I know you thought you were taking something away from me, but I loved every minute. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I wanted to thank you, too,” Yuta says. “I had so much fun, and came out of it with you. I don’t mean this in a burdensome way,” he continues, laughing. “But you are one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, you know?”

“That’s a little sad,” Taeyong replies, though he’s fighting giggles. “You must not have had a lot of nice things happen to you.”

“Stop it,” Yuta replies. “You’re better than you know.”

They work their way through breakfast, and Taeyong lingers in the kitchen, drying the dishes. Yuta brings his bag down, and they stand facing each other in the hallway for a moment. “It’s almost noon,” Yuta says finally. “Come on. Don’t wanna miss your train.”

Taeyong kind of wants to miss his train. He kind of wants to stay right here, say _oops, I thought it was next week!_ He wants to drag Yuta home with him, and then to school, get an apartment in his college town together. 

He gets into the car instead.

Yuta helps him drag his luggage down the stairs (“This is the one you hit me with that day outside the station, I remember!” Yuta exclaims, patting the handle of one of the suitcases fondly), and then they drive downtown to the train station.

Yuta parks and helps Taeyong carry all his things onto the platform. He helps him load them up in the overhead bins while one of the conductors watches seriously, assuming Yuta’s trying to hop on the train without a ticket. Once Taeyong’s things are settled, they step back out of the train onto the platform. 

“Text me when you get home,” Yuta says.

“I’ll text you the whole ride home,” Taeyong replies. 

“Tell me when it’s convenient to call,” Yuta adds. “It’s okay if it’s not until you’re moved back into your dorm. I can wait. I won’t get too lonely.”

“I will,” Taeyong says, “get too lonely. I’ll call you when my parents are at work.”

Yuta groans good-naturedly. “Makes me feel like a terrible person.”

“You’re not.” Taeyong runs his thumb over Yuta’s knuckles. “Better than you know, remember?” He pats Yuta’s chest. “Your fragile old heart is still a good one.”

Yuta laughs, and pulls him in for a hug. Taeyong squeezes tightly. “I’m gonna miss you, honey,” Yuta says, and Taeyong feels his bottom lip tremble. 

“Gonna miss you, too, daddy,” he whispers. Yuta rubs his back. 

“We’ll see each other soon, yeah?” he offers as consolation.

Taeyong clings to it. “Yeah,” he agrees, “soon.”

A whistle blows. “You better go,” Yuta says, prying Taeyong off him. “No, don’t look so sad. It’s not goodbye forever. I promise.” His eyes are bright with the same pain that sits heavy on Taeyong’s shoulders and burns at his eyes, but he gives Taeyong a smile. “Go,” he repeats. 

“Bye,” Taeyong says, taking one step back, and then another and another. “See you.” He turns, and ducks into the train.

When he’s settled in his seat, he looks out the window and sees Yuta still standing there, watching. He waves, and Yuta waves back. Taeyong puts a smile on his face. He wants the last thing Yuta sees of him to be happy. 

The doors are all shut, and the train lurches to life. As the conductor comes down the aisle to check their tickets, Taeyong presses himself to the window, keeping eye contact with Yuta even as they pull away. He stares hard until they round a corner and he can’t see him anymore.

He hands his ticket over to be punched, and as soon as the conductor leaves him alone, he buries his face in his hands, curling towards the window, and cries. It’ll be fine. He knows it’ll be fine. It’s just so hard. He’s always been bad at letting go.

His phone buzzes in his hand, and he looks down, brushing tears away so he can read it. It’s from Yuta. **Keep your chin up, baby,** it says. **Don’t cry. We’ve only known each other for a few months. We still have the rest of our lives.**

  
Taeyong can’t even try to reply just yet. He lets out a shaky laugh. Yuta knows him so fucking well. He knew he’d cry. He knew what he’d need to hear. _Yeah,_ he thinks. _I guess things will be okay, after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!!
> 
> [tumblr](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/_kjmsupremacist) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/kjmsupremacist)
> 
> if you are willing and able, you'll also find a link to my buy me a coffee on my about page (tumblr link above), i'd greatly appreciate it! again, no pressure, no obligation, you guys are so good to me as it is!!


	11. i'm stronger than all my men, except for you

The move back on to campus is an easy one. Taeyong arrives early in the morning, but somehow Doyoung’s still there before him, items in varying states of disarray, already unpacking.

Taeyong’s parents hang around longer than both he and Doyoung would like, but finally they’re left to their own devices. Doyoung immediately rounds on him. “Tell me everything,” he says. “Show me a picture, since you refused to send any. Did he say he’d be coming to visit? When?”

“Relax, oh my god,” Taeyong says. “One second, at least let me make my bed. He said he’d come visit a couple of weeks in. It just kind of depends on our schedules. He wants to wait until I get my syllabi before he books a flight.”

“Jesus Christ,” Doyoung laments. “Does he happen to have any hot, single friends? I want a sugar daddy, too.”

Taeyong tries not to cringe at the word _daddy_. “He’s not my sugar daddy,” he protests. “Here, picture.” He offers Doyoung his phone; Doyoung snatches it out of his hands. “Don’t scroll too far, there’s nudes on there, too.”

Doyoung makes a face. “He’s gorgeous,” he mutters. “He doesn’t even look that old.”

“I know, right?” Taeyong grins. “And he’s so nice to me.”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Doyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You worship him; of course he’s nice.”

Taeyong takes his phone back. “No, actually, I really am the most insufferable little brat to ever enter his life, I think,” he replies. “I put him through all kinds of shit.”

“Oh, good, then he and I have a bonding point.” Doyoung grins. “Okay, let’s go eat. We can finish unpacking later.”

Doyoung introduces Taeyong to Jeno, a freshman who went to his high school, and they eat together. Taeyong watches Doyoung mother Jeno with a smile, laughing aloud when Doyoung asks if Jeno’s been making friends.

So for the most part, it’s just like last year. He meets up with his friends, gets dragged to a party that very night, and stays up drinking and talking until the early morning. When he and Doyoung finally stumble back to their room, the sun is only an hour from rising. But even exhausted and drunk, the knowledge that this year will be _nothing_ like last year lingers in Taeyong’s mind. 

And maybe Taeyong drunk-texts Yuta that he can’t wait to see him; maybe Doyoung laughs at him for it in the morning. But it’s true. Taeyong’s life is different, but better. He can’t wait for the first day of classes to come, because it brings him one step closer to the reason why.

~ * ~

Yuta and Taeyong agreed he would come visit the second weekend of school. Taeyong has a few hours between his morning classes and afternoon classes that Friday, so Yuta plans to swing by after lunch to drop off the hotel key. 

“Do I look okay?” Taeyong asks Doyoung fretfully as he fusses with his hair in the mirror.

Doyoung rolls his eyes at Taeyong’s reflection. “You look fine. Plus, hasn’t he literally seen you blackout drunk and throwing up on his bathroom floor?” Taeyong cringes. “See? Can’t get worse than that. Stop worrying.”

“No can do,” Taeyong replies cheerfully. “But thanks!” His phone dings, and he jumps. “Ack! He’s here! Um, see you in a bit!”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he dashes out of their room, scurrying down the hall and the stairs. He bursts out of the front doors, and sees Yuta leaning against the driver’s side door of a rental car, wearing sunglasses and a big smirk. 

“Hi,” he says when he sees Taeyong, peeling himself off the car and sauntering over to greet him. _How is he so calm?_ Taeyong feels almost like an overexcited puppy. He reminds himself they’re in public, balling his fists so that he doesn’t do something uncouth. “How are you?”

“Good,” Taeyong says breathlessly. “I’m good.” _How can I be anything else? You’re here._

“Here.” Yuta hands him a little envelope; Taeyong opens it and sees a key card slotted into the folder. _706_ is written on the other side. “Come once you’re out of class. We can get room service.”

“Okay,” Taeyong says, pocketing it carefully. “Um, can I show you around campus?”

Yuta grins, putting his hands in his pockets. “Sure,” he says easily.

“I’m so happy to see you,” Taeyong says quietly as they begin walking, side by side.

“You too,” Yuta replies. “Missed you a lot.”

Taeyong’s skin crawls with his frustration. It feels so _wrong_ to be saying things like this—things so loaded with emotion—and not be able to touch Yuta, to be held by him, to kiss him until they’re both dizzy and out of breath. “What if I just skipped my afternoon class?” he suggests hopefully, and Yuta laughs.

“No, none of that,” he says gently. “I refuse to take part in disrupting your education.”

“I won’t be able to focus anyway,” Taeyong wheedles even though he knows it’s futile. “C’mon, please?”

“No,” Yuta repeats, still laughing. “We’ll have all weekend.”

“Can I kiss you, then?” Taeyong asks.

“Not here, I should think,” Yuta replies, blinking.

“No, follow me.” Taeyong picks up the pace, hurrying along the path until they reach a small wooded area. He ducks between the trees, watching over his shoulder as Yuta follows. It's a small park they have on campus, almost a garden; it’s supposed to be good for their mental health or something, but mostly students take advantage of the high hedges and heavy foliage. Still, it’s a bit of a landmark, so it’s not odd that Taeyong’s led Yuta here. Parents love to see it, blissfully unaware of its most popular uses. He takes them to one of the little nooks between bushes and trees, and turns, grinning. “How about here?”

“Here’s good,” Yuta murmurs warmly, stepping right up to Taeyong so they’re toe to toe, and kisses him.

Taeyong gasps, melting into Yuta’s hands and body immediately, instinctively; it’s feels stupid to say, but it almost feels like coming home. It's like the beginning all over again, when every single one of Yuta’s touches felt like fire, Taeyong’s skin left burning in the wake of his fingertips. He presses his palms to Yuta’s chest and it’s everything and not enough all at once.

“Daddy,” Taeyong mumbles.

“Hi, honey,” Yuta whispers.

Taeyong’s definitely going to cry about it later, but right now he’s focused on Yuta—Yuta’s eyes, Yuta’s lips, Yuta’s hands—so he whines, peppering little kisses along Yuta’s jawline, rolling his hips a little just to see where it’ll get him.

Yuta brings a hand down in between their bodies and cups Taeyong’s cock through his jeans. “Dangerous game you’re playing,” he says, voice soft and low and silky.

“It’s a game I’m good at, so it’s okay,” Taeyong replies as he ducks his head to press his lips and tongue to the hollow of Yuta’s throat. 

“Really?” Yuta just laughs, closing his fist slightly. Taeyong bucks his hips automatically, panting against Yuta’s skin when he actually starts to move his hand a little. “Because I think you’re getting in over your head.”

Taeyong huffs in reply. _I’m always in over my head with you,_ he thinks, _but I don’t mind._ Yuta tilts his chin up with his free hand, and Taeyong closes his eyes and gives his whole body over to Yuta. Just like he always does.

But just as he’s actually getting hard, Yuta takes his hand away, giving him one last chaste kiss. Taeyong whines before he can stop himself, casting Yuta a hurt look.

“Thought you were showing me around campus,” Yuta says innocently.

“But then we came here,” Taeyong protests.

“To kiss,” Yuta points out. “We kissed. C’mon. You have class soon, don’t you?”

“You’re evil,” Taeyong says, and Yuta slings an arm around his shoulders as they stroll back out of the garden. 

“I know,” Yuta says sweetly. “Evil and mean and terrible to my baby boy, isn’t that right? That’s why I came all the way over here, after all.”

“All right, I get it, I’m the worst brat in the world,” Taeyong mutters.

Yuta releases him, chuckling. “At least you’re self-aware,” he says.

“You weren’t supposed to agree with me!”

~ * ~

Taeyong’s last class is torture. He spends the whole time running through what he’ll need to do to get to Yuta’s as fast as possible. As soon as they’re dismissed, Taeyong is scooping up his things and all but running out the door.

His packing process is fast and violent—he throws his bag onto his bed and pulls clothes out of his drawers from where he’d carefully folded them the day before. He grabs makeup and all the skincare he can think of while Doyoung watches, an expression of mixed amusement and concern on his face. “Do you… need any help?” Doyoung asks him tentatively.

“No,” Taeyong says quickly, digging around for his collar. “Thanks, though.”

A few short minutes later, Taeyong is packed and ready to go, taxi on its way, and the hotel key tucked safely in his pocket. “See you Monday,” he says to Doyoung.

“Have fun, you whore,” Doyoung replies, hardly looking up from his work.

He’s jittering in the cab, and he has to focus on walking normally as he enters the hotel lobby. The floors gleam, and the reception area is beautiful and well-furnished. Chandeliers hang from the ceilings. The girls at the front desk bow as he passes, and he finds himself sort of half-bowing back in greeting.

The elevators are huge and the walls are lined with mirrors. The floor is black marble. Taeyong tries to press the button for the seventh floor, and then realizes the reason he has the key to begin with is because the elevator needs a scan. Vaguely embarrassed, even though no one is watching him, Taeyong struggles to get the key out of the packet so he can press it to the sensor. After a few failed attempts, the light flashes green, and he’s finally on his way upward.

Yuta’s room is almost all the way at the end of the hall. Taeyong walks the long hallway on unsteady legs, taking in the pretty artwork on the walls. It’s clearly an expensive hotel, which means it’s unlikely he and Yuta will break the bed, as he’d kind of been worried about for the past day or so.

Though he has the key, he knocks anyway when he reaches Yuta’s room. Yuta answers the door with an amused smile, and pulls him in wordlessly.

Taeyong drops his bag on the floor and presses his face right into Yuta’s shoulder. He doesn’t even try to take in the room or say hi, just hides in the crook of Yuta’s neck with his arms draped over his shoulders.

Yuta walks them over to the bed and lays Taeyong down on top of him, rubbing his back. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly. “I’m right here.”

Taeyong responds by latching his teeth onto the soft skin of Yuta’s neck, sucking hard until he knows he’s left a mark. “Missed you,” he says. “Want you so bad. Please, daddy, need you.”

“What happened to, ‘Hello, how was the last month?’” Yuta asks, but Taeyong can hear the smile in his voice. “Alright, get off me so I can prep you, then.” Taeyong rolls off of him, and Yuta helps him out of his jeans and shirt. “Go up near the head of the bed while I get the lube.”

Yuta works him open thoroughly, but quickly—obviously, he’s just as excited as Taeyong is, though he does a better job at curbing his excitement than Taeyong does. He covers Taeyong with kisses as he adds fingers while Taeyong squirms and whimpers.

“Missed your body, honey,” Yuta says, and Taeyong shudders out a moan. “Can’t wait to feel you.”

“I’m ready,” Taeyong says, “so hurry up.”

Yuta actually listens to him for once, removing his fingers and kicking off his pants so he can slick up his cock. Taeyong reaches down to help him line it up with his entrance, though his hands shake with anticipation. 

Maybe he wasn’t quite ready, because the stretch of Yuta’s cock stings a little. But Taeyong doesn’t care, because he’s too busy feeling full and happy. Yuta pushes in slowly, breathing out praise and profanity as he goes—“Oh, _fuck_ , honey, you’re so tight. You feel so good, baby, I missed this so much.”

“Daddy,” Taeyong pants, hands fumbling for a place to hold on. He settles on Yuta’s forearms, trying not to swoon too hard when he feels the hard muscles flexing underneath his fingers. “Oh my _god_ , feels so—so fucking good—”

It’s just like their kiss in the garden—it’s sweet and good and right, but also electrifying, and searing, and so familiar. Yuta rolls his hips slow at first, but as soon as he’s afforded a little bit of give, he’s picking up the pace. It burns just a little, and Taeyong eats it up, moaning when Yuta presses closer with each thrust in. He lets his legs dangle, feet suspended a few inches off the bed to get a better angle. 

Tears gather in his eyes, and while that’s not unusual, these ones feel a little different. Taeyong doesn’t have the wherewithal to try and fight them, or to preemptively brush them away. He kind of hopes Yuta won’t think anything of it, but when the first tear falls, Yuta slows to a stop, cooing and reaching up to catch it before it even gets part way down his cheek.

“What’re these for, baby boy?” he asks, giving Taeyong a sad look.

“You, daddy,” Taeyong mumbles, faintly embarrassed. _It’s all for you._ “It’s just—everything feels so good, and I missed you so much, and I—I missed your cock so much, and it’s just—it feels so right, and it’s not fair. I want you all the time.”

“Oh, honey,” Yuta murmurs. “Hang on, let’s—let’s switch positions.” He pulls out, which leaves Taeyong feeling horrible and empty, but he settles back against the pillow and pats his thighs. “Come here,” he says. “I think this might feel better.”

Taeyong climbs into his lap, carefully sinking back down on his cock. Yuta wraps his arms around Taeyong’s back, and pulls him flush to his chest. Taeyong clings to him, nuzzling at his temple as he gets settled, leaving little kisses on his cheek. Yuta won’t be able to fuck him as hard or fast like this, but his cock is _so deep_ , and besides, it’s comforting. 

“Yeah,” Taeyong breathes out. “This is better.”

Yuta thrusts up, bouncing Taeyong in his lap, and Taeyong feels like he’s choking on his own tongue. “I just want you as close as possible,” Yuta explains. His voice is husky and quiet. “You’re all I thought about,” he continues. “That’s how my month without you went. Like I was living with an echo of you.”

“Oh, god,” Taeyong whimpers. He knows it’s incredibly romantic of Yuta, and as soon as he doesn’t have his cock in his ass, he’ll be touched, but right now all he can focus on is how his cock is drooling precome and getting both his stomach and Yuta’s sticky and wet. 

“Dreamed about you, too,” Yuta continues. “Almost every night. Which makes me worried—what if this is a dream?” Taeyong flushes a little, thinking about Yuta dreaming about something like _this_ , and then waking up alone. “But I don’t think it is. This feels too real.” He doesn’t wait for Taeyong to respond. “I know you probably want me to give you something rougher,” he continues. “Which is not this. Promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

“I don’t mind this at all,” Taeyong tells him, stuttering a little.

“I know,” Yuta says. “This is— _mm_ —this is what we need right now. But still, I know you’ll want it.”

Taeyong just hums softly, rocking back and forth in time with Yuta’s thrusts. Wrapped up in Yuta’s arms like this, he feels so warm and so safe. Nothing else matters outside of this bed; nothing else exists. It’s just him and Yuta, and the _knowing_ that binds them. 

He drinks in everything about Yuta—his hair, still white blonde; the familiar lines of his eyes, the familiar shape of his lips. He looks up at Taeyong and Taeyong can’t look away. It’s like having floodlights suddenly turned on and pointed straight at him. Yuta’s gaze, though now a bit clouded with lust, is just as probing as Taeyong is certain his own is. He’s looking, searching, ready to refresh what he knows and go back and relearn things that may have changed. Taeyong half-hiccups his breath in and out, never breaking eye contact.

“You’re stunning,” Yuta says, and Taeyong feels a sort of elated swooping sensation in his stomach, not just at the compliment, but at the way Yuta seems to be thinking the very same things he is.

“I was just gonna say the same about you,” Taeyong replies. “Handsomest.” Yuta hums his thanks.

It’s clear they’re both a little on edge, because Yuta’s breaths are already coming out harsh and irregular, and Taeyong feels pulses of pleasure so strong they disorient him. It’s fair, he supposes. It’s been a while since they’ve seen each other. And Taeyong is hot and tight around Yuta’s cock. In this position Yuta has no choice but to hit Taeyong’s prostate with every movement. The head of Taeyong’s cock rubs against Yuta’s stomach, sending shocks through his body.

Taeyong’s orgasm builds suddenly, and he digs his nails into Yuta’s back. “‘M gonna come,” he slurs out.

“Yeah?” Yuta’s not looking for an answer; his voice is thick with desire. “Then come, honey.”

It takes a few more thrusts but then Taeyong is convulsing, legs shaking as he comes between their bodies. His moans are high and quiet, chin tucked to his chest, forehead brushing Yuta’s collarbone.

“Good boy,” Yuta whispers as he comes down, “so beautiful for me.”

Taeyong’s head is heavy, so he rests his temple on Yuta’s shoulder, giving him light, lazy kisses around his pulse point, suckling a little at the skin. They’re both a little sweaty, and also gross now with the come drying on their bodies, but Taeyong doesn’t care. He knows Yuta doesn’t either. 

Yuta’s moaning low and quiet next to Taeyong’s ear, and it’s a little perverted, but Taeyong thinks his place in the world might just be right here, limp in Yuta’s hands as Yuta uses his body to come. 

He can also tell Yuta’s close from the rough drag of his breath, so he lifts his head slightly, and says in his sweetest voice, “Come in me, daddy, please. Always feels so good.”

Yuta groans. “God, you’re perfect,” he forces out, fingertips pressing into Taeyong’s spine as he stills inside him. Taeyong can feel his cock twitch as his hot release fills Taeyong up, and he whines softly, satisfied. Yuta catches the noise in his mouth, nudging his head up so he can kiss him slow and sweet while they catch their breath.

A few quiet moments pass. Taeyong can’t imagine trying to clamber off Yuta now, and since Yuta makes no move to pull out, he slumps against Yuta’s chest, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah, I definitely still like you,” he says quietly, and Yuta laughs, caught by surprise.

“Yeah?” he asks through his laughter. “Well, that’s good. I definitely still like you, too.”

Taeyong feels a little bit of Yuta’s come drip out down his thigh, and stiffens. “Probably should go get clean,” he says. “Don’t wanna make the maids change the sheets already.”

Yuta laughs. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Hold on.” He scoots them to the edge of the bed gingerly while Taeyong laughs, and then pushes Taeyong gently. Taeyong stands, making a face at the weird uncomfortable feeling as he pulls off of Yuta and steps away.

“Quick shower, c’mon.” Yuta leads him into the bathroom, and Taeyong blinks, just now realizing how big this room is. There’s a nice big tub in one corner, with a TV on the opposite wall, and a big standing shower, too. The floor is some kind of grey granite tiling that transitions seamlessly up the walls. The design of the sinks and the other amenities is all so sleek and futuristic; even the faucets on the shower and tub seem to be from an alien planet. The bathmat is plush and soft under Taeyong’s toes. Yuta starts the shower, grinning at Taeyong’s expression of wide-eyed awe as they wait for the water to heat.

“I didn’t know hotels like this even existed,” Taeyong stutters.

“I was wondering when it would hit you,” Yuta says, laughing. “Normally, honestly, I’d stay somewhere a little less—intricate, I guess? If it was just a normal vacation.” He steps into the shower, tugging Taeyong along with him. “But I figured, if we’re supposed to be having a romantic getaway, I might as well book a suite somewhere really nice.”

“This has to be, like, the best room in this place,” Taeyong says, letting Yuta run a soapy hand down his back. 

“It’s not,” Yuta says, laughing. “I was looking at pictures on the website—the presidential suite has a little gas fireplace right next to the bed, and the living room is _huge_. But the tub is like, right on the other side of the fireplace, with very little to divide the bedroom from the bathroom, so I decided against it. What if one of us needs to get up and pee in the middle of the night? We wouldn’t be able to turn on the light.”

Taeyong doesn’t know what to do except laugh. “So you decided against the presidential suite because the layout was inconvenient. I’m not complaining—this room is literally hurting my brain with how nice it is. I just think it’s funny.”

“Yeah,” Yuta says. “Rinse off, baby.” Taeyong blinks, realizing he’s just kind of been standing under the water. “Besides,” Yuta adds. “It was a little big. I don’t know, I just don’t think we need all that space. Wanted to keep you close.”

He steps out of the shower like he hasn’t said something so sweet, and Taeyong remembers what he said earlier. _You’re all I thought about. That’s how my month without you went. Like I was living with an echo of you._

That’s how Taeyong’s month felt, too. He’d find himself imagining Yuta’s reactions as he went about his day; he’d have made-up conversations in his head to keep himself busy so he wasn’t consumed by his loneliness and the way he missed Yuta. 

“Thank you,” he says when Yuta holds out a fluffy towel to him, but he means it for more than just the towel. Yuta seems to understand. 

“It’s so good to have you here with me again,” he whispers as he helps Taeyong dry off, lips against his cheek.

They head back into the bedroom, picking their clothes up off the floor, and then Yuta beckons him into the living room, which Taeyong hadn’t even noticed when he first arrived, too busy smothering himself in Yuta’s chest.

“I ordered some champagne before you got here,” Yuta says as they get dressed. “We can drink it while we wait for our room service?”

Taeyong had completely forgotten about food until this very moment, and his stomach rumbles. “Room service?” he asks.

“Yeah, come look at the menu and tell me what you want.” Yuta gestures him over to the little breakfast bar, sliding a paper menu across the counter to him before bending down to open the fridge. 

While Yuta pops the champagne and pours them each a glass, Taeyong mulls over the menu. He ultimately decides on a pasta dish, and points it out to Yuta. He snags a glass of champagne, and wanders over to the huge couch, sitting on the end closest to the windows. He watches Yuta as he orders, smiling into his glass at the awkward tint to his polite tone.

Taeyong gets pleasantly buzzed while they wait for their food to arrive. Yuta sits with him on the couch, grinning as he watches Taeyong fully take in the room. There’s a TV in here, too, and some artsy pieces of furniture. The floor is a gorgeous dark wood, but it’s covered mostly in big, soft carpeting. The one under their feet is a sort of grey-blue, which accents the gunmetal-colored couch and sleek white coffee table. There’s a small black table with two white swivel chairs right up against the window wall, which is where Taeyong assumes they’ll be eating. Outside, he hears faint music; one of the cafes or bars on the street below must be having some kind of show.

Once he’s done marveling over the room, Yuta makes him tell him all about his classes so far, and even requests the syllabus for one of them.

“It’s introductory music theory,” Taeyong says, confused. “You’re a composer and a producer.”

“Yeah, I wanna make sure they’re teaching you right,” Yuta says impatiently, like it’s obvious. Taeyong laughs incredulously.

Dinner comes with another bottle of champagne, which was good planning on Yuta’s part, as they’re just finishing up the first one when it arrives. The food is delicious (or maybe Taeyong’s just comparing it to the nightmare that is dorm food, he’s not sure), and though Taeyong’s pretty full once he’s finished his plate, he thinks he definitely wouldn’t mind another. 

But he has champagne to finish, and by the time Yuta’s done eating, he’s definitely quite drunk. He’s sure Yuta can tell, but he doesn’t say anything, just quickly downs a glass or two, probably before Taeyong can, and stands with the bottle in one hand. He pads across the living room and turns off the lights, then picks his way back to the table in the dark, setting down the now-empty champagne bottle, and extends a hand to Taeyong.

“Dance with me,” he says, already swaying a little to the distant rhythm of whatever live band is still playing outside.

Taeyong giggles, and together they side-step back and forth. Taeyong alternates between gazing at Yuta, and raking his eyes over the beautiful view. The city near his college isn’t big, necessarily, but the downtown lights up at night. For a moment, he lets his mind wander into a fantasy, where he and Yuta work together and travel to a bunch of beautiful, foreign cities, and stay in nice hotels. Where he and Yuta don’t have to go for weeks or months without seeing each other. Where he and Yuta go home to the same house, make breakfast in the same kitchen.

It’s a fantasy where he and Yuta have a life together. Where he and Yuta love each other.

He wants to say it, sometimes. He wants to cross that line. He knows Yuta does, too. But it’s just a fantasy, and even if it is something achievable, it’s far away. Taeyong looks back at Yuta and sees him smiling. Yuta might not be the love of his life, Taeyong muses, but he thinks he might be the one who will know him better than anybody else. That’s a precious bond, too. 

He stumbles a little, the alcohol making his limbs slow and clumsy, and they both giggle. Yuta catches him before he can fall, but he shakes Yuta’s hands off and sinks to his knees anyway. 

“Lemme suck your cock, daddy,” he says softly. “It’s dark, no one will see.”

Yuta’s eyes flash in the dark. “What on earth am I gonna do with you, huh?” he asks, but he just runs a hand through Taeyong’s hair and lets him undo his belt.

Taeyong gags happily on Yuta’s cock, and soon Yuta’s coming hard down his throat, grunting softly through clenched teeth. Yuta rewards him by bending him over an armchair and fingering him until he’s crying and coming in Yuta’s fist.

They have another shower, and then climb into bed, sleepy and sated. Yuta closes the blinds with the control panel by the bed, and pulls Taeyong into his chest.

“Two or three days doesn’t seem like enough,” Yuta murmurs. 

“I don’t have class on Monday,” Taeyong whispers.

“Won’t your friends worry?”

“Nah, Doyoung’ll cover for me,” Taeyong says. “Think you can extend your reservation one more day?”

“Yeah,” Yuta agrees, chuckling. “I think I could manage it.”

“Perfect,” Taeyong says, snuggling closer.

They’re silent for a while. Taeyong wonders if maybe Yuta’s drifting off, but then—

“Taeyong?” It’s barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

Yuta runs his hands up and down Taeyong’s back. His breath fans across the top of Taeyong’s head. Taeyong can hear his heartbeat. “Taeyong, I—”

But whatever he’s trying to say gets caught in his throat. Taeyong doesn’t need to ask, though. It’s a vicious creature, his understanding. It tears through his heart with sharp teeth, wailing and crying and dripping sweet, thick blood. “I know,” he says, and the emotion in his own voice shocks him.

“You do?” Yuta asks, both hopeful and relieved.

“Yeah, I do.” Taeyong kisses Yuta’s sternum, speaking into his skin. “I know. Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, thanks for reading!
> 
> [tumblr](https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/_kjmsupremacist) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/kjmsupremacist)
> 
> if u wanna drop me a couple of bucks, you can do so through my ko-fi, which is linked on my tumblr (see above!)


End file.
